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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27312418">when the night is coming down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/excaliburss/pseuds/excaliburss'>excaliburss</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcel/pseuds/marcel'>marcel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(in spite of telepathic bonds), Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Miscommunication, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Telepathic Bond, Werewolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:41:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>162,291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27312418</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/excaliburss/pseuds/excaliburss, https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcel/pseuds/marcel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When their pack is killed by a lone alpha known only as the Beast, Quentin and Julia are taken in by a pack of city wolves who have a much different approach to things than they're used to. Reluctant as Quentin is to let his guard down, he can’t help being curious about his new packmates - especially Eliot, who seems determined to make him wonder if the chance to belong somewhere maybe isn't as far out of reach as he thought.<br/>But Quentin knows that what he lost once he could lose again, and the Beast has never left survivors before…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>304</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>FOLKS it's time. here is the fic i started thinking abt in may after spending a week insisting i would never write anything of substance ever again, or as it is more affectionately titled, Werewolfs.doc.</p>
<p>thank u to everyone who has ever even had to look at me typing the word 'werewolf' since june. i'm EXTREMELY excited to finally be sharing this thing we have been working on for so long!!! i have a lot to say about The Process of the past 5 months but i'll try to save it for the end, and/or a behind-the-scenes post i have vague ideas about. for now i hope u enjoy the first (checks notes) 7% of the fic lmao. it's, uh, very long.</p>
<p>also dear Newly Designated Co-Author nicole. werewolfs would not be.... anything close to what it is without you. i love u very much. it's all for u.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quentin never knew his own pulse could feel so loud in his ears. It's drowned out his ragged breathing, his feet hitting the pavement - it must be echoing out of him down every dark alley they pass. He keeps looking up, hoping for a glimpse of the moon to light their way, but it's covered by clouds. It has been the whole night. The bright spot it casts in the sky will have to be enough.</p><p>Julia glances back at him often, and Quentin knows it's less to check he's keeping up and more to assure herself that he's still there at all. It's the same reason he's hardly dared to take his eyes off her the whole time they've been running. They're all they have, now, and that's one of the only things keeping him moving forward.</p><p>Any relief he'd ordinarily feel about their escape is held at bay by the thought of who didn't. It doesn't make sense that he and Julia should make it out when the rest of the pack, older and stronger wolves, did not, but that's how it is. The pack is dead and they're all that's left, alone and terrified but alive, somehow. The next step is staying that way long enough to find somewhere safe.</p><p>Quentin thinks they've probably run far enough to lose anybody trying to follow - if the thing that attacked them was ever following them at all. It was another wolf, hulking and unfamiliar, although he didn't get much of a look beyond a flash of blue eyes and bared teeth before it came after them. But they haven't seen any sign of it since, and Quentin is certain he'd get the scent if it was trailing them. The wolf had smelled like blood and nothing much else.</p><p>Maybe it decided he and Julia weren't worth chasing. Quentin hopes so, anyway, because he really can't go much further. Neither of them can, if Julia is anywhere near as exhausted as he is, and she must be. They've been running for hours, both of them scratched and bruised and bleeding - Julia from the gashes across her forearm where the wolf had swiped at her, and Quentin from the ragged, searing tear in his side. The wolf's claws had caught him across the ribs, digging into his flank just before Julia had managed to bar the door between them and it. There wasn't time to think about pain, not when the barricade would only grant them a few seconds at most, and Quentin could already hear the door splintering as he and Julia scrambled out the closest window.</p><p>There was the short drop to the ground, the sprinted distance between them and the treeline, then a roar that seemed to be right on their heels - and then they were over the threshold and swallowed up by the dark of the woods. They pitched through the trees until there weren't trees anymore, and then through thick grass alongside a thin strip of road, staying out of the streetlights and zigzagging across fields until there weren't fields anymore, either. The road slowly widened, though they didn't always keep it beside them, and the next time Quentin had looked up there were sidewalks and street signs, headlights and billboards and a thousand other things assaulting his senses as they entered the city.</p><p>Julia hadn't said where they're going, and Quentin isn't even sure when exactly she took the lead, but he goes along anyway, following her through the streets. The sharp, twisting pain in his side has been slowly mounting, closing in on him, getting thicker with every step. When he last dared to look at it, it had already stained what was left of his shirt a dark, wet red - but it's not a priority, not when they're slinking between shadows in the brightest, loudest, most populated place they could find in the middle of the night.</p><p>All Quentin can really do is trust that Julia is leading them somewhere safe, and let that belief hold him together - not only for the blood soaking through his clothes, but also for the remnants of the bond that he can still feel, just barely, glinting feebly between him and Julia. He only catches fragments of her thoughts now, <i>this way</i> and <i>almost</i>, staticky and faraway like bad radio reception. She keeps it up even though Quentin can't focus enough to respond, silently urging him forward, urging herself, straining to ignore the long note of panic that's been with them the whole night. But it's enough to know there's still something tethering them together, no matter how frayed it is, because the rest of it— </p><p>That's what hurts the most, really, worse than the claw marks: the gaping empty space in his mind where the bond of their pack used to be. The humming presence of the other wolves, now gone eerily silent in a way that threatens to overtake him if he focuses on it too long. He never thought there was that strong of a connection between him and the others, but the loss of it is staggering - not a physical pain, exactly, but the absence twinges, like something was ripped out and the edges are still raw. But he's trying not to think about it, about the fact that they're <i>strays</i> now, wolves with no bond and nowhere to go— He focuses instead on Julia leading the way and on putting one foot in front of the other, again and again and again.</p><p>They slow down a little, further into the city, careful to avoid attention and any wide swaths of light. Julia leads him between buildings as the structures grow closer together, down alleyways almost pitch black, and eventually through a creaking gate into a courtyard. It's quiet, surrounded on all sides by old brick buildings with dark windows. Quentin doesn't get a chance to take in much more than that before he trips in the grass, and Julia's hand is too slippery with blood to keep him from crumpling to the ground.</p><p>She immediately goes to her knees beside him, urging him up even as pain from his wrenched wound blurs his vision. "Come on, Q," she pleads - the first words she's said aloud in miles. "Just a little further, I promise."</p><p>Quentin manages to gather the strength to roll onto his back, hoping to see the moon shining above them, but it's still hidden behind the clouds. Instead there's one lit window on the top floor of the closest brick building, casting dim light down into the courtyard. A second later a door opens and Julia's head snaps up, staring into the dark at the sound of footsteps coming across the grass towards them.</p><p>A sharp shudder works its way up Quentin's spine as his hackles rise. He struggles to sit up, to put himself between Julia and whoever is approaching, but mostly ends up leaning on her as she wraps a protective arm around him. His vision is too hazy with pain and exhaustion to make out anything more than shapes - two figures, one taller than the other. No sharp teeth glinting in the low light, but that doesn't mean they're not dangerous. But then— </p><p>"Julia?" one of them calls, equal parts incredulous and wary. "What the hell? What are you doing here?"</p><p>Then another voice, deeper, the taller one - "There's blood, Margo, they're both—"</p><p>"Please," Julia chokes out. The word glows briefly in Quentin's mind, echoing around the too-empty space. "Please, we need help."</p><p>The shorter figure steps closer and Quentin strains to focus, every breath another claw in his side. Details swim into view - a woman, pinched brows and her mouth a hard line, her eyes roving concernedly over Julia and then stopping on him. A sense that had been dancing at the very edge of his awareness fully hits him then, more certain than anything in the past few hours— <i>alpha</i>. They're among wolves, wherever they are.</p><p>But Quentin still tenses as she reaches out to him, mustering up a snarl that makes her pause - possibly more out of surprise than intimidation, though. Julia's hand slips off his shoulder to brush across his face, a little too shaky to be soothing. </p><p>"It's okay," she assures him, her voice cracking. "It's okay, Q, they're friends. They're going to help, just relax."</p><p>And part of him really wants to, the part that also wants to drift off into wherever blood loss is trying to drag him down into. But the rest of him has been lit up with panic for hours, and he's not sure he could let go of it if he tried. The pain is mounting again, everything that had been held off by his burst of fear coming back full force, and as he grits his teeth against it he feels the alpha's gaze on him again.</p><p>"You're gonna be a handful, huh," she huffs, and glances over her shoulder. "El, a little help?"</p><p>"I've got him." The other figure appears at her side immediately, bending low over Quentin to slip an arm around him. The dim light doesn't afford Quentin much of a look at this second wolf before he's being shifted over to lean into him, another arm sliding under his knees and bracing to lift - which will hurt, Quentin knows it. But he's too exhausted to even try to pull away.</p><p>He growls again, much weaker, and the alpha's eyes catch his, flashing red in the dark. Quentin just has time to wonder if she's going to show teeth after all before a command blares in his mind: <i>Sleep</i>. </p><p>And he does.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>The sun is up by the time Quentin wakes. It takes him a while to swim through the grogginess, but eventually he registers that he's indoors, lying on a soft surface. There's daylight slanting across the ceiling above him and soft voices somewhere nearby.<p>He's not in blinding pain anymore, but it only takes one deep breath and the ensuing sharp twinge to determine that he's definitely still injured. The heavy, unnerving silence from the bond is still there, too.</p><p>He's not entirely sure where he is, though, or how he got there. He remembers… running, and falling, and looking for the moon in the sky and then— and then the other wolves had shown up, and what had happened after that? Where's—</p><p>"Julia," he chokes out, panic rising high enough in him to nearly overtake the stabbing pain in his side as he tries to sit up. He squeezes his eyes shut against it. "Julia?"</p><p>The soft voices cut off and there's some shuffling, a door closing, and then a tiny flicker of presence in his mind. When he opens his eyes again, Julia is by his side, reaching out to brush his limp hair out of his face. "I'm here, Q." </p><p>She looks tired and worried and like she hasn't slept, but she smiles at him. She's not crying anymore, or scared, and the gash on her arm is wrapped in gauze. She's in different clothes, too, clean and dry with an unfamiliar scent. It's a relief to see her, and Quentin slumps a little as the rush of fear drains out of him. "Where are we?" he asks weakly.</p><p>"We're safe," she assures him. "Here, lie back down."</p><p>Quentin lets her help him ease back against the pillows she quickly arranges behind him, so that he's propped up a little instead of entirely horizontal. He notices then that he's on a bed, and that his shirt is missing - probably for the best, considering how much blood he could've wrung out of it - so he's been left in just his ragged jeans with a thick bandage across one side of his ribs. Some red has seeped through the white, dotted in the same pattern as the claw marks underneath.</p><p>"You've been out for a few hours," Julia explains, moving to sit carefully on the edge of the bed as Quentin squints around the room. "We're in the city. Do you remember getting here?"</p><p>"Sort of," he says, his eyes too tired to focus on much more than the single window and the patterned bedspread bunched up at his feet. "I remember stopping somewhere. Lying in the grass."</p><p>"You tripped, but okay."</p><p>Quentin musters up a half-hearted glare, but Julia gives him another tiny smile, so he lets it slide. "Some wolves found us, and you... asked them for help."</p><p>He also remembers why they needed it, why they were running - but he's pretty sure Julia doesn't need him to say that, not when she looks away, undoubtedly thinking of the same thing. The empty quiet of the pack bond must be especially raw on her end. She had known some of the others since she was first turned, Silver and Menolly and Corrigan… Quentin wasn't very close with any of them, but they were still his <i>pack</i>, people he knew. And then there's all the things they had to leave behind, which Quentin knows doesn't really matter, not when the important part is that he and Julia are in one piece - but part of him still aches a bit, thinking of his bedroom, his bookshelf, even little things like his toothbrush— </p><p>It's just a lot to get over, realizing that they have literally nothing but each other and the clothes on their backs. And he's not actually sure about the latter.</p><p>He shakes his head to push the thought away. "You said they were... your friends, or something?"</p><p>Julia nods, and as if on cue the slightly-blurry door across the room opens. Quentin is immediately on edge again - or as much as he can be while trying to sit up any straighter pulls unpleasantly at his wound. He settles for a wary look at the two people entering the room, until he realizes one of them is familiar.</p><p>"Q, this is Margo," Julia says, as the woman from the courtyard approaches the bed. This time the <i>alpha</i> presence hits Quentin immediately, and he remembers how her voice felt in his mind the night before, how her eyes flashed. Daylight doesn't make her any less intimidating. "And this is Eliot."</p><p>A man steps up beside Margo, arms crossed over his vest and tie. Quentin thinks he must be the other wolf that met them in the courtyard - he's certainly tall enough, anyway. Neither he and nor Margo seem hostile, but even without claws or teeth out Quentin is still acutely aware that they're wolves, <i>city</i> wolves, completely unfamiliar. Eliot gives Quentin a small smile though, and Quentin feels a bit of the tension in his shoulders loosen.</p><p>"You look a lot better," Margo says, raising her eyebrows at him. "Full consciousness really suits you."</p><p>"Not that we didn't love the covered-in-blood-and-twigs look," Eliot adds. "I hope you weren't too attached to that shirt, by the way. It was a lost cause."</p><p>"I— uh," Quentin says, blinking a few times. He somehow feels like he's already missed a step in the conversation. "Yeah, it's— it's fine."</p><p>Margo gives him a once-over that's either appraising or cooly disinterested, he can't tell which. "Sorry for knocking you out. Charmspeak isn't usually my go-to for first impressions, but I thought it'd make things easier. Or at least keep you from trying to start a fight while we cleaned you up."</p><p>Quentin glances down at his bandages. That's one question answered, he supposes. "Right. So you brought us to… wherever this is?"</p><p>"Our pack house, yeah. You basically made it here yourselves, though," Margo says with a shrug. "Pretty impressive. From what Julia said, you guys were running all night."</p><p>Quentin shoots Julia a questioning look and she gives him a somber sort of smile. "I told them what happened," she says quietly, and Quentin is... relieved, truthfully, that she took care of it, but part of him feels bad that she had to do it alone. He tries to push an apology through the bond on instinct, but it's so weak between them that he's not sure if Julia hears it.</p><p>"Margo agreed to let us stay here with her pack for a few days," she goes on, gently taking his hand. "Just until you're better."</p><p>"A few days?" Quentin repeats, incredulous. He can barely remember the last time a cut or scrape didn't disappear within a few hours, and bruises barely have a chance to ache before they're gone. Granted, the gouge in his side isn't exactly a minor injury, but by now it should have stopped bleeding, at the very least. To his dismay, it still hurts enough to wind him when he tries to twist for a better look at the bandages. "But it should be— why is it still—?"</p><p>"Remember when I said 'running all night'?" Margo asks dryly, as Julia pushes him back down against the pillows. "You're both exhausted. I'm not surprised it's taking a bit of time for your body to remember how to patch itself up without— help."</p><p>She only falters for a moment, but Quentin knows what she meant to say. <i>Without your pack</i>, unspoken but somehow still loud in the quiet room. Of course wolves heal faster around their packmates, he <i>knows</i> that, he hadn't forgotten so much as he just— never needed to think about it, until now. He wonders how many other things he's going to have to realize he'd been taking for granted.</p><p>The small slip seems to sober everyone by a few degrees. Quentin watches Julia press her lips together against a swell of grief he can almost feel flickering through the bond. He makes himself look back at the others.</p><p>"Okay, so how— how long do you think it will take?" he asks, resisting the urge to pick at the edge of the bandages.</p><p>"Maybe a week, to heal fully," Eliot says, more serious now. "Less, if you just want to recover the blood you lost."</p><p>"But that's only the physical side of things," Margo points out, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden. "The rest of it… we can't really say."</p><p>Quentin feels Julia take a quiet, steadying breath, and puts his hand back over hers. "The pack bond, you mean."</p><p>Eliot shares a careful look with Margo before he speaks again, dropping his arms to his sides. "After— something like this, it kind of goes without saying that both of you are going to be feeling... low, for a while."</p><p>It's such an understatement that Quentin almost manages a laugh. Beyond the pain in his side and the over-exerted ache in all his limbs, more than anything he just feels heavy. He knows he should be paying attention to that feeling, being <i>mindful</i> or whatever he's supposed to do to whenever his brain decides it's time to break, but he's just— too tired. And it doesn't really feel like the start of an episode anyway, not as numb as that usually is - instead there's almost a soreness in his mind, a barely-there throb.</p><p>It's not quite a headache, more a sense of wrongness, that something is <i>off</i>, like he's just tuned into the wrong signal, or if he just gave his head a good shake it would all click back into place. But he knows that's not it. The thing that used to fill the emptiness doesn't exist anymore. The line's been disconnected.</p><p>"Don't worry about the long-term right now," Margo says, a little softer. "It takes however long it takes. Just focus on getting back on your feet."</p><p>Julia nods, and takes a moment to set her face into something more put-together before she looks up. "We're grateful for your help."</p><p>"What was I gonna do, turn you out to bleed to death in my yard?" Margo scoffs. "It's nothing, I'm just glad you thought to come here. This whole thing is just…" She lets out a long, tired breath. "It's fucking awful. I'm sorry."</p><p>Quentin isn't sure what they're supposed to say to that. Julia grips his hand hard.</p><p>There's a few seconds of quiet, not quite uncomfortable, while Margo and Eliot glance at each other again. Quentin wonders if they're speaking silently through their bond or just good at reading each other's eyes, until Eliot sighs and takes a step closer to the bed.</p><p>"There's no delicate way to ask this, unfortunately," he says, grimacing, "but can you tell us about the attack? Anything you remember, just to get a better idea of what could've done this."</p><p>Julia shudders, a small tremor that Quentin doesn't think he would've noticed if he wasn't holding her hand. She already had to talk about this once, he reminds himself, even if this specific part was probably brief. He squeezes her fingers and looks up at Eliot. "We weren't around for most of it. We didn't... see it happen."</p><p>Margo actually looks relieved for a moment. Beside her, Eliot's brows draw together. "But you felt it," he says, and Quentin nods.</p><p>"Yeah, we were… by ourselves, out in the woods," he explains, casting back in his memory - it seems almost like a different lifetime. "Everyone else was at the cabin, but we were, um, scouting, planning a hunt for the next full moon."</p><p>They were fighting, actually, the same argument they'd been having for months. It always started with something minor, an offhand comment or vague complaint, and then Julia would say <i>Have you tried talking to Corrigan about it</i>, and Quentin would say <i>No</i>, and Julia would either sigh or roll her eyes and Quentin would either bite back a disdainful comment about their alpha or— not do that, and then— well. Months.</p><p>This particular time, Quentin had really tried for the first option but didn't quite manage it, and he and Julia bickered for half the afternoon before eventually agreeing to disagree and lapsing into silence for the rest of the outing. Presently, Julia doesn't correct him on the half-truth, just continues holding his hand, and Quentin goes on.</p><p>"When it got dark we started to head back. We were kind of on the edge of the forest, um, not super far out, but... we were walking, and then— I felt this—" Pain? But it wasn't pain, it was almost the opposite, an abrupt loss of sensation. Something wrenched away from him, sharp and sudden and leaving nothing in its wake but the sense that its departure should have hurt.</p><p>"It was like everything got... quieter?" Quentin tries, frowning down at the bedspread. "The whole forest - like, when you walk into a room and everyone just— stops talking. I wasn't sure what happened, what... <i>changed</i>, but I just— I knew something was wrong." That he could definitely feel: the violation, the sense that whatever was happening shouldn't be. It came again - the wrenching not-pain, the volume turned down further - and Julia grabbed his arm, and after the third time he stopped counting and focused on following her through the trees.</p><p>"So we ran back. It only took a few minutes for the scent of it, the— the blood, to hit us." He swallows. "And by the time we could see the cabin, there was just— there was nothing else." Quentin doesn't think he can manage describing the scene, the sick warmth of it, bodies strewn around like somebody's broken toys - he shoves the image away, forces his memory to skip forward.</p><p>"We found Corrigan inside. He's our— he was the alpha," he says, stumbling over the past-tense. Julia tightens her grip. "I thought we had just missed whatever attacked him, but then we— we heard it growling."</p><p>It had been a deep, crackling rumble that buzzed through his entire body, flooding him ice cold with dread. He felt the ridge of hackles along his spine rising almost involuntarily as he turned towards the sound, and a second later there it was - looming out of the darkness, towering over them on its hind legs. Yellow teeth bared in a snarl, muzzle stained dark red, dripping blood and saliva.</p><p>Eliot watches him intently. "What was it?"</p><p>"A wolf," Julia answers before Quentin can. Her voice is tight but she pushes through it, refusing to let it waver. "An alpha. It was huge, standing upright, like it got halfway through shifting and stopped. It cornered us like it was nothing, we couldn't even try to fight it off."</p><p>"A werewolf, you're sure?" Margo asks, looking between them with narrowed eyes. "Not some fucked-up coyote?"</p><p>Julia's gaze turns sharp. "The others could have handled a coyote," she says harshly. "It wasn't just a rabid animal, it knew what it was doing. It wanted to hurt us."</p><p>"And it sure made an effort," Eliot murmurs, his eyes flicking down to Julia's bandaged wound, and then over to Quentin's. Quentin fights the sudden urge to pick at it again. "How did you get out?"</p><p>"It chased us upstairs," Julia says, deflating a little. "We managed to barricade a door, and slipped out the window before it could break through. We hit the ground and started running. It didn't follow us."</p><p>Margo gives her a long look before she lets out a sigh through her nose and straightens up, like she's steeling herself. "Right. Did either of you see its eyes?"</p><p>Julia shakes her head and glances at Quentin, who is so thrown by the question that he almost forgets to answer until Margo raises an impatient eyebrow. "I— I did," he says quickly, sitting up as far as he can manage. "They were blue."</p><p>He didn't really consider before just how weird it was - he's seen other wolves' eyes flash yellow in moonlight, even his own in the mirror. Corrigan's were always red, and Margo's were too, earlier. But blue— "Does that, um, mean anything?" he asks, when Margo's expression darkens. "It had to be an alpha to shift like that, right? Or was it something else?"</p><p>"'Something else' is putting it mildly," Margo grumbles, her jaw tight. "It's one <i>specific</i> alpha. It matches his M-O. I wondered, when you said your whole pack was—" She cuts off with a huff, glaring at the floor. "But I really wanted to be wrong."</p><p>"What do you mean, it matches?" Julia asks, looking wary. "Has this happened before?"</p><p>Margo hesitates for a moment, biting her lip before answering. "There have been rumours about this blue-eyed nightmare of a wolf, leaving a bloody trail through the midwest over the past few months. Well, more than rumours," she amends, crossing her arms. "At least three different packs have been attacked. Wiped out, no survivors." Quentin's heart drops, cold dread crawling up through his chest again.</p><p>"They're calling him the Beast," Eliot says, lip curling. "Not exactly subtle, but it gets the point across."</p><p>Margo nods gravely. "There's a lot of talk about how he started out - that he was turned as a kid and ended up the pack punching bag, eventually got fed up and decided to hit back... but whether that's true or not, his pack isn't around to say so. He wiped them out, too."</p><p>"His own pack?" Julia breathes, horrified. "His <i>alpha?</i>"</p><p>"Well, you know how it goes," Eliot sighs, waving a hand. "You kill the alpha, you're the alpha now."</p><p>Quentin grimaces. "But I thought you had to— doesn't the alpha usually give up the status voluntarily? Like, hand it off to someone else?"</p><p>"That's the more modern practice, yes," Eliot allows. "But 'voluntary' is the operative word. If the alpha isn't willing to give it up, they can be— challenged, essentially, to fight for it. First to yield gets demoted." He smiles grimly. "However, not everyone has the patience for that, and killing an alpha outright has the same payoff. It's an outdated, barbaric way of doing things, but that doesn't mean it doesn't work."</p><p>"Either he was desperate, or seriously batshit," Margo says, hands on her hips. "He even hunted down his sire, the wolf that bit him. Which, if that motherfucker was turning kids, he deserved it, but still. Pretty grisly."</p><p>Quentin is struck by a sudden sickening thought - the Beast is the same as him and Julia, a wolf without a pack. A stray. The idea makes his stomach twist.</p><p>He remembers how the others in their pack had sometimes talked about strays in hushed voices, those shameful, unbonded wolves forced out of their packs. Less often there were stories of wolves who were sole survivors, left alive but alone after a tragedy - but the bottom line was always the same: strays are bad news, bad luck, and best to keep away from.</p><p>In all those stories, the stray themselves was always to blame, whether they were alone on purpose or not. As if he and Julia were as bad as the Beast, just for surviving. He wonders if the Beast feels the same empty space in his mind that he does.</p><p>"Why would anyone go that far?" Julia asks quietly, shuddering again. "Who would... <i>want</i> to be alone like that?"</p><p>"Different priorities," Margo says, shrugging like it's simple. "He wanted power, and he got it. After that, he wanted to see if he could do the same thing with another pack. He apparently got it in his head that the more alphas he killed, the stronger he would get."</p><p>A still of Corrigan's body jumps into Quentin's mind. He shoves it away, blinking hard. "Did it work?"</p><p>"Couldn't say," Margo sighs, letting out a breath. "It's all just rumours. But there <i>is</i> a wolf out there slaughtering entire packs, and he's never left survivors before."</p><p>She finishes with a hard stare at the two of them. After laying out the impossibility of their escape so plainly, Quentin really can't blame her. It doesn't seem right that he and Julia could have made it when the more seasoned wolves in their pack didn't. They were just lucky, somehow - or maybe unlucky, since now they have to live with it.</p><p>Margo softens after a moment though, and straightens up to the more familiar bossy stance she had entered with. "Either way, you'll be safe here, so let me worry about the rest. You two just take it easy." She fixes Quentin, specifically, with a shrewd look. "Focus on keeping all your bodily fluids in the right place."</p><p>He manages a meek nod, which Margo seems satisfied with. She assures them she'll sort things out while they rest, finding clothes to borrow and clearing out a spare room - then Julia offers to help, and Quentin tries his best to ignore the automatic spike of anxiety the thought of her leaving gives him.</p><p>He knows she could probably use a distraction, rather than sitting around in the haze of pain and quiet with him, even if it would make him feel better if she stayed close. So he pastes on a smile when she gives him a questioning look, promising he'll be alright to nap without her. She and Margo head out of the room, closing the door softly behind them, and it's not until that soft <i>click</i> that Quentin realizes Eliot has stayed behind with him.</p><p>Which is... fine, really. He's not worried anything's going to happen, he knows he's probably as safe here as he's going to get. But he's just not sure how he feels about trying to sleep while someone is standing over him, especially since he can't really roll over without hurting himself. Not that Eliot is staring at him, or anything - his eyes are on the door instead, twisting one of the rings on his fingers almost absently.</p><p>"You don't have to keep watch," Quentin says, hesitant.</p><p>Eliot blinks and looks over at him. "I'm sorry?"</p><p>"I mean, I'm obviously not going anywhere," Quentin explains, gesturing vaguely at his bandages. "So you can go, like, catch up on sleep, or whatever."</p><p>"Ah. Well, I would," Eliot says, clasping his hands behind his back, "but unfortunately, my bed is temporarily occupied."</p><p>It takes Quentin a long second to follow his gaze to the mess of blankets at his feet. "Oh, this is your—? Sorry, I can— <i>ow</i>." A sharp pull across his ribs makes him wince when he tries to push himself up. Eliot's playful expression falls and he hurries to Quentin's side.</p><p>"You just said you're not going anywhere," he huffs, gently pressing him back down. "You don't have enough blood left for this."</p><p>His hands are warm and steady on Quentin's bare shoulders, and firm when Quentin makes one last half-hearted attempt to sit up. "But—"</p><p>"I'm joking," Eliot cuts him off, pulling back with a sigh. "Not about the bed, I really did give up my best pillows for this. But I'm not ousting an invalid. Just relax."</p><p>Quentin tries his best, settling against the pillows. "It's not like I'm bleeding out," he grumbles.</p><p>"Maybe so, but you <i>are</i> stubborn enough to get yourself there," Eliot says wryly. "I know that much. You growled at me when I tried to carry you in last night."</p><p>A vague memory swims back to Quentin then, of arms winding warm around him, of bracing himself for pain - had he really growled? He feels his face growing hot. "Sorry."</p><p>Eliot seems more amused than offended, though, and waves him off. "I really don't mind, as long as you promise me you're not going to keep those jeans."</p><p>"What? Oh." Quentin glances down at them, shifting a little and grimacing at the parts that have gone stiff with dried blood. "Yeah, probably not. I don't really think they're salvageable."</p><p>"Glad we agree," Eliot says with a grin. Quentin watches him take the chair from the desk across the room - not so blurry now - and set it next to the bed. He sits with one knee crossed over the other, and Quentin can see his patterned socks, his shiny loafers. The whole scene, the unfamiliar scents, the faint sounds of traffic from outside— it's almost comical, how jarringly different it is from what Quentin is used to.</p><p>"Are all wolves in the city like this?" he asks, frowning.</p><p>Eliot raises an eyebrow and rotates his ankle. "What, well-dressed?"</p><p>"No, just— I don't know. I've never met any wolves who weren't, like—"</p><p>"Living in the woods?" Eliot supplies.</p><p>Quentin's cheeks start to feel hot again. "More or less, yeah."</p><p>"Well, while not all city wolves have taste," Eliot sighs haughtily, "it's all about blending in. You would know that, coming from the forest. The city is just a different backdrop. And it never hurts to look good," he adds, smoothing down his vest.</p><p>"What about overdressed?"</p><p>"No such thing," Eliot scoffs, shooting Quentin a playful glare. He recrosses his legs and props his elbow on his knee, chin on his fist. "It's not all that different here than in the middle of nowhere, honestly. Different packs claim territory in different parts of the city, and we all do our part to continue flying under the radar. Rent's probably higher here, though."</p><p>"Isn't it difficult with so many people around?" Quentin asks, squinting at the window as he tries to imagine it. The furry, sharp-toothed wolves he pictures trotting after their grocery carts in hats and sunglasses probably aren't very accurate.</p><p>"It's not like we're all meeting up to howl at the moon every night," Eliot snorts. "Besides, people barely bat an eye at wildlife riding the subway. I'm sure bodega werewolves wouldn't cause too much alarm."</p><p>"Fair," Quentin snickers, brushing his hair behind his ear. "I guess I'm just more used to, um. Hiding."</p><p>Eliot is quiet for a few seconds. When Quentin looks back at him, he has a weird look on his face that quickly lifts into a smile once their eyes catch. "Yeah, we don't do that here," he says easily. "But you'll see that for yourself, since you're sticking around for a few days. If you get released from Margo-appointed bedrest, that is."</p><p>Quentin huffs, ignoring the urge to try sitting up again. "I will. I'll get Julia to jailbreak me, if I have to."</p><p>"Good luck with that," Eliot says dryly. He waits until Quentin's restless squirming settles before he leans back in his chair, regarding him with a curious look. "Not to pry, but you and Julia... you seem close, even for packmates."</p><p>"Uh… yeah, I guess," Quentin says, not entirely sure where Eliot is taking the conversation. "We used to get mistaken for siblings. Or, like, <i>actual</i> mates, a couple times." He grimaces a little. His teenage self would've been thrilled at the idea, but now it just feels weird to think about.</p><p>"So you're not?" Eliot asks, eyebrows raised. "Mates, I mean."</p><p>"Definitely not," Quentin says, half a laugh. "We've been friends since we were kids. We were in college together when Julia was bitten, and I, uh, let her turn me. I mean, I wanted her to," he clarifies, when Eliot's eyes darken. "I know that sounds insane, but she's my— my best friend." His only friend, at that point. He shrugs weakly, peeking up at Eliot. "Maybe it was stupid, but I don't regret it."</p><p>Eliot's expression clears after a few seconds, settling back into something curious. "How did you two get away with it? I can't imagine any college campus is ideal territory for fledgling werewolves."</p><p>"It wasn't," Quentin agrees. "We spent a lot of time by ourselves. Forged a lot of doctor's notes. Got really into 'hiking'." He smiles wryly around the air-quotes. "Graduation was during the new moon, so there was that, at least. I figured we could keep it going, you know - complete our five-year-plan, grad school, whatever, but…" He shrugs again. "Julia wanted to find a pack."</p><p>"Ah." Eliot tilts his head. "And you didn't?"</p><p>Quentin shakes his head quickly. "No, I did— I mean, everyone wants that, right?" It's supposed to be inherent in all wolves - the need for community, for the bond between packmates that's a source of strength and so much else. Quentin knew that. And it's not that he didn't <i>want</i> to be in a pack, it's more that... he kind of thought he already was, with Julia.</p><p>Sure, they didn't have a real packmate bond between them, and neither of them were alpha wolves capable of creating one. But they were fine, just the two of them. Or at least, Quentin thought they were.</p><p>"She just— she was really insistent about it, like it was urgent," Quentin explains, dropping his gaze to his lap. "There weren't really any other wolves where we lived, but she had found this forum online, like a FAQ for newly-turned wolves. It was actually pretty helpful when we were still thinking that we'd, like, hulk out in the middle of class. Before we learned that only alphas have to worry about shifting, I mean. Google couldn't really help us with that stuff, and all we had to go on was, like, <i>Teen Wolf</i> and <i>Twilight</i>." He glances up with a sheepish smile, and back down when Eliot doesn't return it.</p><p>"But, um. Julia made some friends on there, and… one of them, Corrigan, offered to take us. Eventually we moved out to the woods, to the cabin with them, and— that was it, we had a pack." He sighs and spreads his hands out at his sides, smoothing over the sheets. "That was... almost a year ago, by now? It feels like way longer than that. Or shorter, I'm not sure."</p><p>Either way, thinking about it makes the empty space in his mind twinge again, like he's rubbed the raw edge of it. The silence was easier to ignore while they were talking, but now that he's focused on it, it seems louder than anything else.</p><p>It's probably kind of fucked up to complain about the pack when he's never going to see them again. He drags his focus away from the void of it and manages a thin, wry smile at Eliot. "Hard to believe my head used to be this quiet all the time."</p><p>Eliot gives him a long look that he can't quite read. "I felt that once," he says eventually. "That quiet. It was before I came here, obviously, before I met Margo. But I know how it feels to miss the noise, even when it came from people you don't want back in your head."</p><p>Quentin frowns. "I never said I didn't—"</p><p>"Regardless. Everything is pretty fucked right now, I won't try and sugarcoat that," Eliot says, uncrossing his legs and standing up. "But if you and Julia got all the way here, I'm sure you can manage a lot more when you're not in a state of exsanguination. There'll be something after all this." He looks down at Quentin with that same curiosity again, and just a hint of his earlier amusement. "You'll find a place for yourselves."</p><p>Quentin doesn't think the odds are that great for two strays in unfamiliar territory, but he appreciates the sentiment, and musters up a weak smile before Eliot heads to the door. There is something, though, he can admit - something about Eliot, or maybe just the way he says things, that really makes Quentin want to believe him, even if he knows he shouldn't get his hopes up.</p><p>He and Julia spend that night by themselves sequestered not in Eliot's room, but in an empty bedroom one floor above. Quentin was too focused on not passing out on the way up the stairs to take in much of his surroundings, but he does wonder just how many members Margo's pack has. There seem to be a lot of doors in the hall beside Eliot's, and even the attic space they're led up to has another door across from it, but they don't see or hear anyone aside from the two wolves they've already met.</p><p>Julia figures it's on purpose, to set them more at ease. It's a nice thought, but it doesn't keep her from locking the door after Margo shows them inside. Or from pushing a wooden dresser in front of it. Quentin is pretty sure she and Eliot will understand.</p><p>There isn't much, aside from some dusty storage boxes, a curtained window under the arched roof, and a single plain bed where they curl up together. Margo had promised to procure another mattress for them, but at the moment, Quentin honestly prefers sharing. His side doesn't hurt so much once he stops moving, and whoever's clothes Margo found for him to borrow are soft and comfortable.</p><p>Almost nose-to-nose with Julia, he's reminded another time they lay like this. Not the night she was bitten, when she came home from a date with her makeup smudged and teeth marks in her arm and the only thing that stopped Quentin from running across campus to fight her newly-ex boyfriend was that she begged him not to leave. It was after that, after weeks of Julia growing more and more distant and Quentin wondering, miserably, what he had managed to do to finally drive her away.</p><p>Then there was a full moon, and Julia didn’t come home all night, and Quentin was just close enough to reporting her missing that he couldn’t help confronting her as she stumbled through the door. He thought they would fight. He kind of <i>wanted</i> to fight, just to get a real reaction. But Julia was too tired to do much more than fall into bed and pull him down with her - too tired to lie anymore.</p><p>Quentin doesn't remember much of what they actually said to each other, after she explained everything, what dumb questions he asked or what fragmented answers Julia gave. But he does remember seeing the blood under her nails and thinking <i>She shouldn't have to do this by herself</i>. Seeing her eyes lit yellow by the moonlight slanting across the bed and thinking <i>I don't want to be alone</i>.</p><p>That night, he asked her to turn him. Now, miles and miles away from that bed in that room in that <i>life</i>, somehow the only thing left is still just the two of them. Quentin wonders if Julia is thinking about the same thing, when she reaches out for his hand. He wishes he could fit the pieces of the bond back into place between them as easily as their fingers fold together.</p><p>He misses knowing that she's there without having to look or touch. The sensation of her presence in the back of his mind, steady and soothing instead of the weak, flickering thing it is now. Even being able to send silent words back and forth without stumbling over them. His thoughts were never as tripped-up and halting as his mouth was.</p><p>But if lying here, watching her face, listening for her pulse, picking out her familiar scent underneath their strange borrowed clothes - if this is as close as he can get now, he'll take it.</p><p>"You should sleep," Julia says eventually.</p><p>"You should too," Quentin insists, keeping his voice soft. "Since you didn't earlier."</p><p>Julia's mouth twists wryly. "I don't know if I can. I mean, I'm exhausted, but…"</p><p>"It's too quiet," Quentin finishes for her. There's more to it than that - too empty, too raw, too heavy - but he doesn't need the pack bond to tell him that Julia doesn't want to talk about it. He reaches for the first distraction that comes to mind, a question he'd been meaning to find time for anyway.</p><p>"How did you know to come here?" he asks, curling up a little further. "To find Margo, I mean. How did you know she would help?"</p><p>Julia sighs, closing her eyes for a moment like she's gathering her focus. "Do you remember the last time I went to the city, in the spring? For Lunar Council?"</p><p>Quentin nods, although it feels like much longer ago that Corrigan and a couple others left for their once-a-season trip into the city for a meeting of wolves - the Northeast Region Lunar Council, Mid-Atlantic chapter, a bureaucratic mouthful that Quentin always forgot at least one part of. "Wolf Court, you mean."</p><p>Not that he ever dared call it that in front of the others, but it gets a smile out of Julia, at least. "Yeah, Wolf Court."</p><p>Since they joined Corrigan's pack, Julia had been going with them to the meetings, and Quentin would have a couple days of staying out of everyone else's way before she would come back and tell him about it. It was like a networking event, she had said, all the wolves in the area meeting up to talk out territory disputes, give pack updates, introduce newly appointed alphas and spread word of any potential threats. Quentin never had any desire to attend - networking had been enough of a nightmare in college, thanks - but Julia always went, and always came back with stories about other wolves she had met, from state forests and big cities alike, some friendlier than others. He remembers her telling him about a pack of young wolves visiting from the west coast, an alpha who was supposedly a hundred years old, a pack that always arrived on motorcycles. But he's not sure she ever mentioned Margo or Eliot.</p><p>"It was mostly just me and Corrigan," Julia starts, after a second of thinking. "Usually after the alpha roundtable, we'd just wander around, saying hi and catching up with people. This time though, he said he had— I don't know, some important conversation to have. Alpha-only business, or whatever. So he told me to stay put."</p><p>Quentin frowns. "By yourself?"</p><p>"Yeah. Which was— fine," Julia says, shrugging one shoulder, "but I guess Margo saw him brush me off, so she came over and offered to keep me company. It was a bit weird, this random alpha suddenly talking to me, but she was friendly, and…" She smiles again, a little sheepish. "I guess I kind of vented to her."</p><p>Breathing a laugh, Quentin tries to imagine Margo keeping up with Julia on a fired-up tirade. It comes easier than he expects. "Vented about what?"</p><p>"About Corrigan," Julia sighs, and Quentin blinks at her, caught off-guard. "How annoyed I was, how he never listened - you know how he would talk down to us all the time."</p><p>"I… I guess, yeah." Quentin knows all about how Corrigan would talk down to <i>him</i>, but not to Julia, not that he had ever seen. She was always so comfortable and confident in the pack - or at least, it seemed that way. But maybe he wasn't looking hard enough.</p><p>"Anyway," Julia huffs, "she let me rant, and then told me about some of the other wolves around, which ones were assholes and which weren't. She even talked about the alpha roundtable a bit, which I don't think they're supposed to. But it was… fun." She shrugs again. "She was nice. I'd never met another wolf outside our pack who actually wanted to, like, talk. And <i>listen</i>, rather than just say hi, show off, and move on."</p><p>Quentin can't help thinking of Eliot, for a moment, and the curious look of interest in his eyes. "I think I get what you mean," he mumbles.</p><p>Julia squeezes his fingers before continuing. "When Corrigan came back and said we were leaving, Margo gave me the address for this place. She told me I could visit if I came to the city for Council again. Just to meet up and talk." She gets a sad look then, and turns her head to gaze up at the arched ceiling. "I didn't really get a chance, obviously. But when all this happened, and we were running, I just thought… it was worth a shot."</p><p>And it paid off, Quentin supposes. They're here, anyway, sheltered and warm in a bed in a relatively safe place. It's probably better than roughing it in the forest or a field somewhere, or trying to make their way any further through unfamiliar territory. It's definitely better than being dead in the woods.</p><p>Still not entirely ideal, though.</p><p>"I don't know what to do after this," Julia admits, the words quiet and wavering between them. "I don't know the next step. Where can we even go?"</p><p>She turns to look at him again, and Quentin fights to hold her gaze. They might be safe for now, but they're still stray wolves. Nobody in their right mind would want to bring that kind of bad luck charm into their pack. It's going to be hanging over the two of them no matter where they go. </p><p>He thinks again of the stories he heard about strays, and how they all end the same way, saying the same thing - strays never last. Without the bond to sustain them, turned out of every place they look for refuge, they waste away. Wolves aren't meant to be alone. </p><p>But he and Julia have each other. That's got to count for something.</p><p>"I don't know," he murmurs, gripping her hand. "But we're staying together." Everything else, the bond, the next step, the Beast, they can worry about later. </p><p>They do fall asleep eventually, but it's shallow and fitful, and the night seems to last a long time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey! thanks for being excited about this! we're really excited too and honestly i'm dying to share more and it's only my respect for the drama that separated this into chapters in the first place! its time for Even more exposition i cant believe how many werewolf fandom wikis i read for this</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The claw marks feel a bit better the next day. Quentin finds he can sit up almost without wincing and manages to get down the hall and into the shower by himself. The actual act of showering is a different matter, however - as nice as it is to wash away all the blood and dirt and whatever else, the hot water also stings something fierce along the raw edges of the wound. Julia chides him for not being more careful when he calls her in to help him rebandage it, but she does admit it looks better than it did the day before. Quentin figures that his being upright and freshly clean instead of actively bleeding probably helps.</p>
<p>Margo catches them back in the spare room, appearing in the doorway while Quentin is struggling into a loose shirt and nearly making him jump when he notices her. "Oh good, you're already up," she says, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Come downstairs for a minute, would you? We've got a couple things to talk about."</p>
<p>Quentin and Julia exchange a wary look, but there isn't much to do but follow her out of the room. Pushing his damp hair out of his eyes, Quentin tries his best to keep his thoughts from spiralling into anxious panic. He'd only gotten glimpses of the pack house when he was being half-carried out of Eliot's room the day before, but now he takes a more careful look around. </p>
<p>The room they're staying in is one of two in the attic loft, and over the railing by the stairs he can see the main floor below - essentially a single wide open room, minus the hallway and bedrooms directly underneath the attic space. The attic staircase comes down on one side, and opposite that is a small living room-type space with a couch and some shelves. On the far end of the room is a kitchen area, and in the other corner a dining table, both well-lit and spacious. Above those is another loft, directly across from the attic rooms but separated by the expanse of the main floor beneath them. There's no hallway or doors on the other side - it's only partially walled, and the open part that Quentin can see looks like another little sitting room with couches and chairs. He doesn't get much of a look at the rest before Julia starts to usher him down the stairs after Margo, and not tripping takes a lot of focus.</p>
<p>Both of the lofts have a set of stairs leading down, and the two flights form a wide V across one wall of the main floor. The opposite wall is almost entirely windows with one sliding door leading out, and Quentin notices a small balcony outside, as well as the courtyard they first arrived in down below. He's not sure he realized before that they weren't on the ground floor of the building, or that there's another staircase in the middle of the room leading down to whatever is on the lower level.</p>
<p>Quentin doesn't really have time to be curious about what that is, though - waiting for them at the bottom of the attic staircase is not only Margo and Eliot, but four other unfamiliar wolves.</p>
<p>He freezes and very nearly starts backing up the steps, but Eliot reaches out for his shoulder before he can try it. He guides Quentin into the little circle they've formed while Margo ushers Julia in beside him. Quentin feels her hand hovering next to his, like she's poised to grab him if the need arises.</p>
<p>"Should he even be upright?" one of the new wolves asks, looking at Quentin with a vague sort of distaste. "He looks ready to pass out."</p>
<p>"I'm fine," Quentin manages - although truthfully, he does feel kind of wobbly with nerves. At least Eliot's hand is steady on his shoulder.</p>
<p>"You just don't want him to bleed on any of your stuff," another wolf snorts, tossing her wavy hair. The first wolf scowls at her, but Margo steps in before either of them can snark any further.</p>
<p>"Play nice," she chides, but she's smiling as she says it. "We're trying to make a good impression, here."</p>
<p>It quickly becomes clear that the four strangers are the other members of her and Eliot's pack, now returned from wherever she sent them off to while Quentin and Julia got settled in the house. They all look more... normal, somehow, than what Quentin had been expecting. More like a somewhat eclectic group of roommates than a pack of city wolves. He supposes they're kind of both, really.</p>
<p>Margo goes down the line, introducing each of them - there's Josh, who seems pretty friendly, giving Quentin and Julia a little wave; Alice, a bit more subdued but still smiling at them shyly; Kady, whose gaze isn't exactly scrutinizing, but still makes Quentin feel like he's being scrutinized anyway; and Penny, the first wolf who spoke, who doesn't seem especially enthused by the proceedings.</p>
<p>"Penny was kind enough to provide your wardrobe," Eliot explains, murmuring in Quentin's ear.</p>
<p>"Oh." Quentin catches himself fidgeting with his borrowed shirtsleeves and makes himself stop so abruptly that the awkward movement definitely catches Penny's unimpressed eye. "Uh, thanks," he says quickly.</p>
<p>"Don't mention it," Penny says. From his flat tone, Quentin thinks he probably means it literally. He has the sudden insane urge to strip down and return the clothes to him right then, but Penny's eye-roll as he turns away makes him doubt there's much he could do that would actually help matters.</p>
<p>The others seem nice enough, at least. Even Kady looks a bit less scary when she smiles at Julia, and Julia even manages to return it. "This is everyone?" she asks, glancing at Eliot. Quentin can tell she's relaxing a little, the tension in her unwinding. "I guess I thought there would be more of you."</p>
<p>Eliot shrugs, smirking. "What can I say? We're exclusive."</p>
<p>Josh gives him a confused look. "But aren't we here to, you know—"</p>
<p>"We're not jumping the gun," Margo cuts him off. Quentin and Julia share another look, but Margo turns to them before they can speak. "I know the meet-and-greet was kind of overdue, but that's not actually what I brought you down here for."</p>
<p>She leads them to the couch by the windows and motions for them to sit down. Quentin hesitates, but Julia pulls him down next to her and keeps his hand clasped in her lap. For a moment Eliot seems to glance between them, pausing on their linked fingers, but he looks away before Quentin can catch his eye.</p>
<p>The others join Margo in front of the couch, standing back a little as she crosses her arms and fixes the two of them with an expectant look. "So. What's your game plan?"</p>
<p>Quentin swallows, nervous again under her gaze. "Um. For what?"</p>
<p>"For where you're headed next," Eliot says at her shoulder. Quentin's heart sinks. He knew from the beginning that they had a deadline, that it was only a matter of time before Margo and the others turned them away, but this is admittedly sooner than he expected. They were supposed to have a few days, weren't they? But at the same time, he can't exactly blame her for wanting strays out of her territory.</p>
<p>Still, his throat feels too tight to get words out, so he looks at Julia instead, watching her pull her shoulders back a little and take a deep breath. "We were thinking of going north. There's wilderness near the border, or even past that there might be some wolves willing to give us a break for the summer, at least." She actually sounds fairly confident, despite their lack of options. Quentin would be impressed if he didn't have such a strong memory of her voice trembling the night before.</p>
<p>Margo hums like she's really thinking out their weak logistics. Quentin winces preemptively, sure she's about to tear it to shreds and put them back at square one - not that they aren't basically there already, but— </p>
<p>"Okay, counteroffer," she says, after a long moment. "What if you stayed here?"</p>
<p>"If we—" Quentin blinks, sure he must have misheard, but when he glances at Julia to confirm she looks just as bewildered as he does. "What?"</p>
<p>"Stay," Margo repeats, smirking a little. "Join up with us. We talked it over, and we all agreed." The rest of the pack all nod when she looks around at them, even Penny.</p>
<p>Quentin tamps down hard on the hope that starts to rise in his chest. This has to be a joke or something, a misunderstanding. "But we're—"</p>
<p>"You don't have to— you've done so much already," Julia says, both of their words jumbling together until Margo cuts them off.</p>
<p>"I'm not asking out of pity, if that's what you're thinking," she says, then tilts her head at Julia. "I'll be honest, when I said I wanted you to visit, this isn't what I had in mind. But it's an opportunity." </p>
<p>Quentin tries to keep the skepticism off his face, but from Margo's exasperated look he doesn't quite manage it. "Look, your situation sucks," she huffs, spreading her hands. "You've both been through hell, and now you've gotta climb out of it. But you don't have to do it by yourselves."</p>
<p>"Don't we?" Quentin says quietly, mouth twisting. "I mean, we're strays."</p>
<p>Margo arches an eyebrow at him. "So what?"</p>
<p>Thrown, Quentin stares at her for a long second, but she seems to seriously want the obvious explanation. "So, you... you don't want us. Why would you?"</p>
<p>"You barely know us," Julia adds, with a wary glance at the other wolves standing around them. Quentin is careful not to look at Eliot, not wanting to see any sort of uncomfortable sympathy on his face - or worse, that amused look from before, like it really is all a joke.</p>
<p>Margo breathes an incredulous laugh, shaking her head. "Are you really trying to talk me out of this?" When neither Quentin nor Julia answers, she rolls her eyes. "I know, okay, it's kind of sudden. But… I like you," she says to Julia, looking at her with a smile. "I've known that since I listened to you shit-talk your alpha for ten minutes. And Quentin—" She shifts her gaze to him and Quentin tries his best to hold it. "Well, the first thing you did was growl at me. That takes guts."</p>
<p>"But why would you want to help us?" he asks, forcing the words out as he shoves down another weak swell of hope. "We're still—"</p>
<p>"If you say 'strays' again, I'm gonna lose it," Margo cuts him off, annoyed now. "I don't care about that. I want to help because I can see you care about each other, and it stirs something in my cold, dead heart, okay?"</p>
<p>"Bambi," Eliot says softly, placing his hand on her shoulder, and Margo lets out a long sigh before looking up at him. They must be saying something through their bond, Quentin assumes, and takes advantage of the pause to finally risk a peek at Eliot. He finds him glancing their way - not with mirth or pity on his face, like Quentin expected, but with something like understanding. He's not really sure what to make of it, or why Eliot drops his gaze so fast.</p>
<p>After a second, Margo nods at whatever he's silently suggested, and Eliot steps back. With a quick look at the other wolves he starts toward the stairs, and the rest follow him over. They all head quietly down to the lower floor, leaving just Margo standing in front of Quentin and Julia.</p>
<p>"Where you came from, who you were before… that doesn't have to matter," she says, almost gentle, but not quite. "You're here now, and I'm offering you a place with us. But it's your choice." Then she backs off toward the stairs as well, but gives the two of them one last searching look before starting down. Quentin wonders what she's hoping to see. "We'll give you some time to think."</p>
<p>He waits until she's disappeared from view before turning to Julia, and finds her looking about as confused as he feels. "That was... not what I was expecting," she says slowly.</p>
<p>"Yeah, not really," Quentin agrees, managing a weak laugh. "'Kind of sudden' really undersold it. But she seems serious." He watches Julia bite her lip for a moment. "What do you think?"</p>
<p>"Honestly?" Julia sighs. "I think we're unlikely to get a better offer."</p>
<p>Quentin looks down at their hands, still clasped together in Julia's lap. "So we don't really have a choice?" </p>
<p>"No, we could still leave if we wanted," Julia says, glancing toward the stairs. "I don't think they'd stop us. But… I don't know, Q." She sighs again and ducks her head a little. "Margo has a point. We need all the help we can get."</p>
<p>"That doesn't necessarily mean jumping right into another pack," Quentin points out, giving the stairs his own wary glance. He thinks of how sure Eliot had sounded the day before, telling him he and Julia would be okay, and feels guilt start to curl up in his stomach. "We don't know them, Jules."</p>
<p>She frowns at him, searching his face. "They saved us. You don't think we should trust them?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," he mumbles. "This, the quiet—" He raises one hand to hover near the back of his head, as if the empty space in his mind is something he could put his fingers through. "It sucks, and it— it <i>hurts</i>, but... I don't know, maybe once it fades…"</p>
<p>Julia lets him trail off, pressing her lips together. "Would you really rather try to make it by ourselves than stay here?"</p>
<p>The guilt roils a little. Quentin shrugs. "Do you think we could?"</p>
<p>"Maybe," Julia says after a moment, and grips his hand again. "We'd have each other. But without a pack, without the bond—"</p>
<p>"I know," Quentin huffs, discomfort abruptly spiralling into impatience. He takes his hand back and stands up. "I <i>know</i>, you want it back."</p>
<p>"And you don't?" Julia asks, incredulous.</p>
<p>Quentin turns away from her, glowering out the window without really seeing anything beyond it. "For me, it's— it's not the same."</p>
<p>"Why, because you didn't get along with Corrigan and the others?"</p>
<p>"No, because— you know why," he snaps. He regrets it when Julia's reflection recoils from him, and turns back around to face her - or he tries, but ends up glaring at the floor. "I couldn't... feel it, like you did. I wasn't connected, I couldn't hear anyone."</p>
<p>It hadn't been a huge deal, in the beginning. Whenever Quentin tried to send his thoughts to the rest of the pack through the bond, only Julia would hear it clearly, and for the others his voice would seem to come from far off. But it made sense, Corrigan said, that he and Julia were good at it, because they were basically halfway to telepathy before they were even turned. As for the others, maybe he just needed practice. As time went on his reach didn't improve, though, and eventually whatever it was that blocked his end of the bond started to affect the other side of it as well.</p>
<p>Quentin didn't even notice the gradual decline at first - the other wolves didn't usually bother sending him anything through the bond since he would have to respond out loud anyway - but after a few weeks of thinking he was just tired and unfocused, he abruptly realized that the voices in the bond were no longer voices, but whispers, faraway conversations he could barely hear.</p>
<p>Julia convinced him to tell Corrigan, whom Quentin suspected didn't actually care much beyond not wanting a weak link in his pack, but he did gather the others to try to fix it - meaning they all did their best to push their thoughts into his mind, and Quentin spent a night focusing so hard on their muffled voices that he gave himself a headache. But it didn't end up mattering. In the morning he could still only hear Julia, and sometimes Corrigan, if he pushed hard. Whatever wall that was cutting him off from the rest stayed up, and they didn't try to get through it again. Once was enough. </p>
<p>"Q, you know that's not how it was supposed to be," Julia says softly. "Do you remember what the bond was like before that, when we first joined the pack?" Quentin shakes his head mutely. Whatever the bond had started out as, it didn't last long enough for him to miss it. "Then maybe this is… I don't know, a second chance?"</p>
<p>"Maybe," Quentin murmurs, but he's not sure how he feels about the idea. In all honesty, he never liked when the other wolves would shove their thoughts into his head, so there was a part of him that didn't feel like it was all that much of a loss when they couldn't anymore. And maybe it was better that they didn't get any of his thoughts, either. Most of them already made clear they didn't care much for tenderfoot opinions, and when he was— low, he didn't really want to project that to anyone, anyway.</p>
<p>For the most part the bond was never anything more than the hum in the back of his mind, the knowledge that he was connected to the others, and that was fine. Mostly. Even if he and Julia never agreed on that.</p>
<p>But the chance to feel it again, properly this time? Does he even want that? "What if it's just— what if it's like last time?" he asks, haltingly. "What if I—"</p>
<p>"You won't," Julia assures him. She stands up and takes his hands again. "This is different, Quentin. Don't tell me you can't feel that."</p>
<p>Quentin makes himself meet her gaze. "I don't know what I feel."</p>
<p>Letting out a breath, Julia steps closer and leads him back to the window. The sun is shining down into the courtyard, streaming through the glass in hazy beams. "Look, I'm not sure of this either," she admits. "But I don't want to run anymore. I want us to be safe. If we stay… this could be the real thing for you." She reaches up to brush his hair out of his face, and smiles when he leans into it. "For both of us. We could belong here."</p>
<p>Quentin doesn't think it's as simple as she makes it sound, but there is… something, in the idea of it. The thought that it really could be that easy, just this once. When it's spoken so softly between them, with the sunlight falling across their hands, he can almost believe it.</p>
<p>He knows that if he says no, then Julia will leave with him. That could be easy, too. But while she's looking up at him with so much hope in her eyes he can't imagine making her give this up. Not for his sake.</p>
<p>When Margo and Eliot come back upstairs, they find the two of them sitting together on the couch again as if they haven't moved, but from the way Margo starts to smile as she heads over, Quentin thinks she can tell something has changed.</p>
<p>"We want to stay," he tells her, when she politely demands their decision. "If— if you'll still have us."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure about you two," Margo says, rolling her eyes like it's obvious, but she grins at both of them before she starts to flap her hands impatiently. "Now get up, come on. If we're bringing you in tonight, we've got work to do before the sun sets."</p>
<p>It seems a little fast, but as he and Julia are herded off the couch, Quentin supposes that maybe 'kind of sudden' is just how Margo does things. The idea is still daunting, honestly, and as the rest of the pack comes back upstairs and Margo starts dictating various preparations to be made, the energy in the air is almost overwhelming. But Julia still has a grip on his hand, grounding him, and before they get fully drawn into the fray he catches Eliot's eye. The pleased look he sends Quentin's way only lasts a moment, but it still sends a strange warmth down his spine.</p>
<p>Margo leads them all down into the courtyard, where the pack-initiation ceremony will take place under the moon that night. Quentin has some reservations about doing it in the same patch of grass where he collapsed only a couple days ago, but he can't actually pick out any blood on the ground when he looks for it, so that, at least, is reassuring.</p>
<p>The courtyard as a whole looks much nicer in daylight without the haze of panic over him. There's a brick path along the outside, and a neat lawn in the middle, with a large leafy tree at one end and a raised stone firepit at the other. The surrounding buildings framing the edges manage to muffle most of the noise from the city beyond, and give the whole courtyard a feeling of seclusion, like an urban glade. Quentin wonders if they'll have to worry about other tenants potentially looking in on them, but with every window dark or covered over, it seems like nobody else is home. Probably for the best, he supposes, considering they're about to partake in an ancient werewolf ritual that would make onlookers suspicious at best, or wary that their neighbours might be in a cult at worst.</p>
<p>His assigned preparation duty is sweeping the brick pathway, a simple enough task that doesn't put too much strain on his bandaged side. The others mill around the lawn with various tasks of their own, gathering up fallen leaves, clearing ashes out of the firepit, stacking chopped logs next to it - except Margo, who sits reclined on the balcony stairs with her legs crossed and insists that she's meditating when Penny grumbles about it.</p>
<p>Quentin is pretty sure they're just doing regular chores, rather than any special preparation. He can't imagine what yard work has to do with the actual ceremony, but he goes along with it easily enough, partly to keep on Penny's good side - if he has one, which Quentin is starting to doubt - and partly because… well, it's better than the alternative. Being outside with a job to complete is definitely preferable to spending the whole day in a state of anxious anticipation.</p>
<p>So maybe he's sort of grateful for the menial task, and his injured inability to hurry through it. Margo even keeps up a running commentary when Quentin gets to her side of the courtyard, and he wonders if it's for his benefit, something to drown out the quiet in the back of his mind. It could also be that she just really wants him to know the story of the previous landlord who was <i>mysteriously</i> compelled to gift her the deed for the building some years prior, but either way Quentin appreciates it.</p>
<p>Just as he's finally putting the broom away, about to ask if there's any other slow-moving task he can be put to, there's a clack of plates behind him and Eliot appears with Josh in tow, both laden with trays and dishes. They've come out of a door Quentin didn't notice before, half-hidden under the stairs, leading into the first floor of the house. The lights are off inside, but through the windows Quentin can just make out booth seats, like in a diner - but then Eliot passes by him with a sandwich platter, and Quentin abruptly remembers that he didn't eat breakfast, so the late lunch situation takes priority for a while.</p>
<p>Afterwards, with everyone back in the courtyard and as prepared as they can be without the moon overhead, it's still only just barely evening. The whole pack ends up sprawled out in the grass to wait for sunset, and despite the quiet, comfortable chatter around him, Quentin starts to feel more and more uneasy the lower the sun gets. It's not even that he's doubting their decision anymore, not with the almost-contagious excitement on Julia's face. He's just… nervous.</p>
<p>The initiation itself, the ancient rite that will join him and Julia with the pack and link them into the bond, is actually fairly simple, as far as Quentin remembers from his previous experience. It's about trust - the wolf is presented to the alpha, baring their throat in a show of submission, and the alpha accepts them in return, pushing the bond into their mind and connecting them to the rest of the pack. A give-and-take.</p>
<p>It's mostly instinct, Quentin knows, but he just wants there to be as little potential for fucking it up as he can manage. Not that worrying about it will make him any less likely to do so, but still.</p>
<p>He ends up pacing by himself at the edge of the lawn, not so far from the others' conversation that the soft noise of it can't keep the empty silence in his mind at bay, but apparently far enough that it catches Eliot's attention. Quentin doesn't even notice he's heading over until it's too late to sneak away.</p>
<p>"So," Eliot says, casually strolling up to him with his hands in his vest pockets. "You seem a little tense."</p>
<p>Quentin actively tries to relax his shoulders. "Not really."</p>
<p>Eliot gives him a long, skeptical look that Quentin doesn't return. "You know, there's still time to back out, if you're having second thoughts—"</p>
<p>"No," Quentin says quickly, shaking his head. "I'm— I'm fine. I mean, I've done this before, I know what to expect, it's just…" He gestures vaguely, then crosses his arms. "A lot."</p>
<p>"Right." Eliot folds his hands behind his back and sighs. "Well, every alpha does things a little differently. What was your first initiation like?"</p>
<p>"Um… fine?" Quentin tries. "Normal, probably."</p>
<p>"Sounds riveting."</p>
<p>Quentin huffs at him, but Eliot just smirks, and the flare of annoyance doesn't last. "It didn't really feel how I thought it would," he admits eventually, scuffing the brick path with one foot. "It's not like I went in planning to resist it, or anything, but I didn't think it'd be so… I don't know, rough?" </p>
<p>He still remembers the insistent press of Corrigan's presence at the edge of his perception, the vague note of not-quite-pain that made him squirm— followed by actual pain, as Corrigan's claws dug into the back of his neck to hold him still while he shoved the rest of the way into Quentin's mind.</p>
<p>"I know the point of it is submitting, and like, being open, but…" He shrugs weakly, brushing his hair behind his ear. "I guess I thought it would be more, um, comfortable. Which, I mean, I don't really know what I expected from someone putting their thoughts in my head, but, you know. I'm fine with doing it again," he quickly adds, when he notices Eliot furrowing his brow. "It didn't hurt that much."</p>
<p>"It— okay, sorry, back up." Eliot looks genuinely concerned now, like Quentin has dissolved into gibberish. "What are you talking about, what hurt?"</p>
<p>Before Quentin can answer, there's a cheer from across the courtyard, and when he looks over the others are all standing around the firepit, now full of a bright crackling blaze. With a start, he realizes it's gotten fully dark while he wasn't paying attention. The moon is out, a beaming crescent above them, and the sky is cloudless for the first time since he and Julia arrived.</p>
<p>Margo waves them over with a grin. "Come on," she calls. "Let's get this show on the road before the fire department shows up."</p>
<p>Quentin swallows hard and steps back onto the lawn, his stomach fluttering. Eliot follows silently behind him.</p>
<p>Julia is already kneeling in the grass when he gets closer, her back to the fire. Quentin settles beside her and looks up at Margo, standing in front of them, her face illuminated by the flickering flames. The others stay behind her to watch eagerly, except Eliot, who still has that concerned look on his face. There isn't time to worry about that before Margo raises her hands up to the moon and closes her eyes, and then the whole courtyard seems to get quieter - the rustling of leaves and the crackle of the fire both dimmed down to almost nothing. Suddenly the loudest thing is Quentin's heartbeat and the shuddery breath he lets out, hoping some nerves go with it.</p>
<p>He sneaks one last glance at Julia and catches her eye. She gives him a little nod, and he feels— a ripple in his mind, barely there, just enough of a tug on the frayed thread between them to let him know they're still connected. Quentin chases the faint echo of it, trying with all his might to send the same thing back to her before everything changes. He's not sure if it gets through as anything coherent, but Julia smiles at him just before she turns away, and then Margo brings her hands back down and Quentin's gaze is drawn to her automatically.</p>
<p>When she opens her eyes, they're shining red in the moonlight.</p>
<p>"So, ladies first?" she asks, looking between the two of them and settling on Julia with a smirk. "Are you ready?"</p>
<p>Julia's voice doesn't waver. "I am." She stares up at Margo for a few seconds, their eyes locked— then Julia looks away, tilting her head to one side, baring her throat. Margo smiles approvingly, and though there's no physical change in either of them Quentin can't help watching almost reverently.</p>
<p>After a second he feels it, though - the echo abruptly cut off, the very last shards of the bond between him and Julia dissolving into nothing. He knew it was coming, but there's an edge of finality to it that he somehow didn't expect. He's completely alone now, he realizes. And though the others are talking, congratulating Julia and helping her to her feet, for a long moment Quentin can't hear any of it over the ringing in his ears. Or maybe it's the silence, the emptiness that he's been trying to ignore all day, but now there's nothing else.</p>
<p>"Your turn," Margo says, her voice dragging him back to the present. The rest of the pack is quiet again, watching. Quentin feels more than sees their gaze on him, keeping his head down. "Hey, step one: my eyes are up here."</p>
<p>She doesn't have her claws out when she reaches for him, but by the time Quentin realizes that he's already flinched, hard. The startled movement unbalances him and he tumbles backwards onto the grass. Pushing himself up on his elbows sends a spike of pain across his side, throbbing in time with his racing pulse. He can still feel Margo looking down at him, but he can't make himself meet her eyes.</p>
<p>He knows he's supposed to be letting this happen, he's supposed to <i>submit</i>, but his ears are still ringing and he can't focus enough to remember how to stop bracing himself against it. His eyes feel hot and his gums are tingling, stinging as the very tips of his fangs start to slide out - god, if he actually snarls at Margo right now, he's done. He sees Julia take a step towards him to try and intervene, but Kady stops her, and instead it's Eliot who comes forward.</p>
<p>Shame and dread curl together in Quentin's stomach. He expects to be yanked up, to be held in place so they can get it over with, to feel claws digging in—</p>
<p>But they never come. Eliot crouches next to him and helps him sit up, taking the strain off his injured side. Quentin still shies away when he reaches out, but Eliot is gentle, one hand brushing over Quentin's wrist and the other settling on his shoulder.</p>
<p>"Quentin," he says softly. "Hey, you're alright. Just relax."</p>
<p>"I'm trying," Quentin forces out between hitching breaths. "I <i>swear</i> I'm trying, I just can't— I can't—"</p>
<p>"It's okay," Eliot assures him. He ducks his head to look into Quentin's face, and it's almost harder to avoid his gaze than to latch onto it. "Just focus on me. Can you do that?"</p>
<p>Quentin manages to nod. He watches the firelight flicker across Eliot's careful expression, and feels every warm point of pressure from his fingers. Almost unthinkingly he starts to match his inhales to Eliot's, until he's no longer gasping.</p>
<p>"Good," Eliot murmurs. Quentin thinks he catches the edge of a smile on his mouth. "Now… the bond is waiting for you. Can you feel it?"</p>
<p>And Quentin can, actually - there's something on the very edge of his senses that he didn't notice until Eliot pointed it out. It's nothing like the other bond was, he's sure, but some part of it feels somehow familiar, like he had just forgotten about it before now. When he feels it softly pawing at the back of his mind, he still tenses automatically, expecting it to force its way in, but Eliot's hand sliding down his arm distracts him.</p>
<p>"It's not going to hurt," Eliot tells him, still soft. "Trust me, Quentin. You just have to open up."</p>
<p>But Quentin hesitates. It sounds so easy when Eliot says it - Julia had done that too, earlier, saying <i>second chance</i> and <i>belong here</i> and Quentin hadn't been sure of any of it. Now, with the bond hovering just out of reach and Eliot so close... maybe he really does want to believe it. He wants to believe that Julia was right. He wants to trust Eliot.</p>
<p>When Quentin closes his eyes, he still sees the firelight making Eliot's skin glow. He takes a breath and tilts his head back, letting himself give in.</p>
<p>One moment he feels a puff of breath against his bared throat, and the next everything is overtaken by the soft push of the bond seeping further into his mind, trickling, spreading out into every corner. There's something almost like a spark, a crackle of static, and then— </p>
<p><i>There you are,</i> Margo laughs, the ring of it blooming through Quentin's head. For a moment the reverberation is all he can feel, and when it fades as her presence slips away from him, there's still something left in the wake of it - a humming murmur Quentin can't quite make out.</p>
<p>He kind of wants to just sit there and listen, lulled by it, maybe see if he can find any words in it if he focuses enough - but then Eliot is tugging him to his feet. When he blinks, Julia is there grinning at him, and the soft, relieving brush of her presence against his thoughts is enough to nearly send Quentin to his knees again.</p>
<p>"We'll have to work on that stubborn streak," Margo sighs, crossing her arms as she comes over, "but I guess both of you did pretty well." She looks more pleased than annoyed, though, and Quentin can feel her in his mind too - and the others. He can feel all of them as they gather around him and Julia, six new and strange senses. "Welcome to the pack, bitches."</p>
<p>He kind of feels like he's floating through the rest of the night, too distracted and relieved to pay much attention to anything, even once the fire is out and they're back inside. The new bond is... overwhelming, more than anything. He knows it won't fully settle in his mind for a few days, but even now it feels so much better than the awful, yawning silence he had started to get used to. He can still feel that, just barely, at some edges where the new bond hasn't quite fit into the space, but there's so much else going on that it's easy to ignore. Julia's familiar, feather-light presence, Margo's more heady alpha one, and the others all jumbled together but distinct in ways Quentin is looking forward to learning - except Eliot, who has a particular steadiness that Quentin thinks he can pick out already.</p>
<p>After a late dinner that he doesn't really remember eating, he and Julia finally find an opportunity to sneak away up to the spare room while the rest of the pack is spread out in the kitchen. His exhaustion feels heavier with every step, but he only gets one longing look at their tiny bed before Julia insists on redressing his wound. The claw marks are so shallow by now that the bandage probably isn't doing much, but Quentin is too tired to gripe about it.</p>
<p>They change into the soft clothes they slept in the night before and get halfway to settled on the single mattress before they're interrupted - not by anyone actually coming to their door, but by Margo's voice, <i>Hey, we're not done yet!</i> ringing sharp again in Quentin's mind. <i>Come on up to the loft. And bring pillows.</i></p>
<p>He's too shocked and pleased at the clarity of it to question the instructions, and so he and Julia climb somewhat hesitantly up the other set of stairs to the loft they had only gotten a glimpse of earlier. It's like a little den, two couches and an armchair arranged in a rough circle around a fireplace on the far wall. Behind one couch there's a step up into the walled half of the loft, which is mostly taken up by a large bed, plus a softly glowing lamp and a gilded vanity mirror. Something about the decor reminds Quentin a little of his brief stay in Eliot's room, but from the underlying scent he knows this floor is Margo's.</p>
<p>There are also some things that don't seem to belong, however, and which Quentin is pretty sure weren't there when he peeked across the way that morning - namely the blankets strewn across the floorspace between the furniture in the lower den. The rest of the pack is there waiting, lounging in the nest of duvets and pillows. Quentin is kind of relieved to see they look a lot less intimidating in pajamas.</p>
<p>Still, he and Julia both pause on the threshold until Margo waves them over from the couch where she's curled up in a silky nightgown next to Eliot, who has a robe on over sleep pants that seem to match Margo's ensemble.</p>
<p>"Well, come on!" Margo urges, grinning at them. "There's just one more thing before you're official."</p>
<p>Julia glances around uncertainly. "A slumber party?"</p>
<p>"It's not gonna make or break your membership," Eliot says, shooting Margo a playful glare. "It's just our personal ritual."</p>
<p>"The first night after someone new is brought in, we all bed down like this," Kady explains, patting the space next to her on the floor. "Close quarters are supposed to be good for helping the bond along."</p>
<p>Josh gives her a surprised look. "Really? I thought you guys just liked cuddling."</p>
<p>"It can be both," Margo says loftily, and pushes up off the couch, tugging Eliot with her. "Anyway, settle in. You can take the couches if you don't want to get all up in the cuddle puddle. And if anyone starts playing Would You Rather without me, you're all grounded."</p>
<p>She turns and hops up the single step into the bedroom, Eliot following behind and flicking off the lamp as he joins her on the bed. Everyone else seems to take it as a signal to turn in as well, lowering their voices and spreading out. Julia picks her way over to Kady and lies down next to her, but Quentin settles for the closest couch. Somehow the idea of bundling up in the duvet between Josh and Alice feels like a rather big leap from sharing a bed with Julia, even if it does look warm and comfortable there.</p>
<p>The others seem to fall asleep easily, and a soft quiet spreads over the loft. Quentin lies awake, curled up under a quilt and willing his eyes to stay shut long enough to actually drop off. He keeps catching himself feeling around the bond, like tonguing a new tooth, prodding until the edges are sensitive and he remembers to stop. He opens his eyes to blink in the dark until he's pushed it all out of his mind, then tries again to settle down, but within a few minutes he's back where he started.</p>
<p>It's not even that the new bond feels bad, it's just— different, and it's hard not to latch onto the unfamiliarity. The sense of the others around him seems both too quiet to focus on and too loud to ignore.</p>
<p>After lying there for what feels like hours, Quentin finally decides to get up and try to find somewhere else to sleep. Maybe downstairs the humming of the bond will be easier to tune out, or at least a little muffled. Either way he knows if he stays in the loft he'll probably end up waking someone up with his discomfort, so he wraps the quilt around his shoulders and slips off the couch. He has to tiptoe along the edge of the blankets to avoid tripping on anyone, and even still he very nearly overbalances when Josh rolls over while he's mid-step, but no one else seems to stir. He pads carefully down the stairs without making a sound.</p>
<p>The main floor is lit up by the moon streaming in through the windows, still and silent except for Quentin's cautious footsteps across the patches of light. He figures distance from the loft is key - he gives the shadowed staircase to the first floor a wary look, but ultimately heads down the hallway instead. He bypasses all the bedroom doors on either side and ends up settling at the very end of it, his back against the wall as he slides down to the floor. It's not as comfortable as the couch had been, but he still has the quilt to keep himself warm, and he thinks maybe the bond is a little quieter here after all.</p>
<p>His relief only lasts until some wide-awake and anxious part of his brain starts to wonder if it really is the distance, or if something else is making the bond seem weaker, and then Quentin has to check if it's still there at all. It is, of course, but once he's picked it out he can't help casting around for it every few minutes, just to make sure, and that sets off a whole new cycle of poking and prodding and stopping and starting— </p>
<p><i>Quentin?</i> Eliot's voice in his mind startles him out of his attempt to clear out his thoughts. When he looks up he's confused to see Eliot standing over him, somehow without Quentin having felt him coming or heard his footsteps. Before he can fully wrap his tired brain around the situation, Eliot is crouching next to him, a tiny smirk on his face. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're not hiding here to avoid snuggling with Josh."</p>
<p>It takes Quentin a moment to process and remember where he's sitting. "I'm not hiding," he insists, probably a few seconds too late to seem convincing. He clutches the quilt a little tighter around his shoulders. "I couldn't sleep."</p>
<p>"Ah." Eliot tilts his head. "So you're down here alone because…?"</p>
<p>Quentin drops his gaze, hoping he doesn't look as pathetic as he feels. "The bond," he mumbles. "It's too… loud or quiet or— something? I don't know, it just doesn't... feel right, yet." With a weak shrug, he curls up a little further. "I guess I'm still reeling."</p>
<p>"Makes sense," Eliot hums, crossing his arms over his knees. "I know it hasn't exactly been the most relaxing of weekends for you. But Kady was right, you know, about close quarters and all that."</p>
<p>Frowning, Quentin glances up at him. "You said it didn't matter."</p>
<p>"I said it wasn't exactly necessary," Eliot corrects, "but that doesn't mean it's pointless. Look, we can compromise, alright? Come with me." He straightens up and holds out his hand. Quentin is already reaching to take it before he really thinks about what he's agreeing to, and lets himself be pulled up and led down the hall.</p>
<p>He thinks Eliot is heading for his own bedroom at first, but they breeze past that and all the other doors along the hallway to come out into the main room, still calm and moonlit. Eliot tugs Quentin towards the couch by the windows and all but pushes him down on it. "There we are," he sighs, gently maneuvering him to lean back against the arm rest. "Not quite as dark as your hiding spot, but probably less likely to give you a backache."</p>
<p>Quentin takes a somewhat wary look around. Being able to see the moon is actually more soothing than he thought it would be, and unfamiliarity of the bond doesn't feel as obtrusive as it did earlier, even when he glances up the stairs to the loft. Maybe the change of scenery will distract his brain enough for him to actually fall asleep for an hour or two. "Right. Um... thanks."</p>
<p>He expects Eliot to head back upstairs, maybe with a satisfied smile at Quentin's successful relocation or a jaunty <i>Goodnight!</i> as he goes, but instead he rolls his eyes. "Jesus, you looked more comfortable on the hardwood," he mutters, and bends down to slip the quilt from Quentin's shoulders, laying it over his legs and chest instead. "<i>Relax</i>, Quentin. It's not a foreign concept."</p>
<p>Quentin feels his cheeks flush, frozen for a few seconds until Eliot leans back again. Having Eliot basically tuck him in is kind of embarrassing, but some very tired part of him feels— relieved, almost, like he'd been waiting for it, and somehow after that it's much easier to unclench his shoulders and nestle a little further into the corner of the couch. He hopes the moonlight is pale enough to hide the warmth he can feel spreading across his face.</p>
<p>Right when Quentin is sure Eliot really is about to turn on his heel and make for the stairs, he moves instead to sit down on the floor, folding his long legs under himself. He curls his knuckles against his temple and props one elbow on the edge of the couch seat, just barely pressing against Quentin's thigh. He finally looks satisfied with Quentin's state of sleep-readiness though, so Quentin can't imagine what he could be sitting there waiting for.</p>
<p>"Are you going to just... watch me try to sleep?" he asks, curling his fingers on the edge of the quilt.</p>
<p>Eliot shrugs. "If that's what it takes."</p>
<p>"Well, it's not, like— it's not a sure thing," Quentin explains haltingly. "I don't know what time it is, so I'm not sure how long I was trying before you— I just mean that it might, you know. Take a while."</p>
<p>"I don't have anywhere else to be," Eliot says wryly, and smiles at him. "It's fine, Quentin. We've got all night."</p>
<p>Quentin feels the urge to protest, to point out that Eliot hasn't had a very easygoing weekend either and probably needs sleep just as much as he does— but the words stick in his throat. Would he really rather stay down here by himself than let Eliot keep him company?</p>
<p>He can definitely pick him out from the general hum of the bond, now that he's paying attention - that sense of steadiness, a brightness that he can feel more than see. In the same way that Julia's presence is his constant, almost unnoticeable until he's been without her, Eliot has been brushing against Quentin's mind so softly that he almost didn't realize it. He wonders if Eliot can feel him too, right now, through the tentative connection between them. He wonders if he can tell that Quentin doesn't actually want to send him away.</p>
<p>"If you fall asleep first, I'm going back to the hallway," Quentin says eventually.</p>
<p>Eliot laughs softly, nodding. "Duly noted. I'll be vigilant." He shuffles closer, leaning his crossed arms on the edge of the couch, and watches Quentin run his hands along the quilt's pattern for a few moments. "I had a question, actually, since we're apparently going to be up for a while."</p>
<p>Quentin wonders briefly if 20 Questions is also cause for a grounding in Margo's domain. "Uh, sure, what is it?"</p>
<p>"Your first pack," Eliot says slowly, and Quentin's stomach starts to sink. "When I asked you about the initiation ritual, you said it hurt."</p>
<p>"That's not a question," Quentin mumbles. After a few seconds under Eliot's patient gaze, he relents with a sigh. "Look, Corrigan just did things differently, I guess. It's not a big deal."</p>
<p>Eliot's brows draw together. "It is when it makes you expect us to hurt you, Quentin."</p>
<p>"It only happened that one time," Quentin insists. "Usually he was more likely to ignore me than…" He trails off when Eliot's expression darkens, crossing his arms with a huff. "Just— nevermind, okay? It's not worth talking about now."</p>
<p>A long second passes before Eliot speaks again. "Did you like it there?"</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"With your other pack. Did you enjoy being part of it?"</p>
<p>Quentin blinks at him. "I— yeah, of course. Maybe not as much as Julia did, but it was... fine." It sounds weaker than he means it to, though, even to his ears, and Eliot gives him a skeptical look. Some weird defensive anger rises in Quentin, but he doesn't manage to get any words out before Eliot cuts off his floundering.</p>
<p>"I'm really not trying to be an asshole," he says carefully. "It just seems like— like you and Julia aren't quite on the same stage of grief." His tone softens to something almost apologetic as he watches Quentin struggle not to fidget with the edge of the quilt. "I know it can be weird when you're supposed to be sad about people who weren't—"</p>
<p>"It wasn't like that," Quentin tries to snap, but it comes out tired. "It's not like I— <i>hated</i> them or something, they're— they were still my pack." He pauses, swallows hard and looks away from Eliot's searching gaze. "But they were Julia's friends first. They asked her to join. I was the tag-along."</p>
<p>"I see," Eliot says, quieter. "Sorry, I thought—"</p>
<p>"It's fine," Quentin says over him, sighing. "It wasn't a huge problem, or anything, I just— I never really... fit."</p>
<p>He expects Eliot to leave it at that and lapse back into silence, but instead he sits up a little straighter, something like determination on his face. "Tell me about it." </p>
<p>Quentin shrugs, mouth twisting. "I wasn't exactly an ideal packmate, I guess? Not as much as Julia, at least? She could kind of, um, cover up enough of the excitement and curiosity and stuff that the others took her seriously. She wasn't annoying." He smiles a little wryly. "But I'm— me, and I'm not great at, like. Shutting up, sometimes."</p>
<p>As if Eliot really needs to be told that. Quentin cringes internally, but when he glances up, Eliot looks a bit like he's holding back a smile. "So they weren't great listeners," he summarizes.</p>
<p>"Not really," Quentin sighs, half a laugh. "They were just... kind of impatient. And they didn't care about— I mean, I can admit it's kind of weird to want to read fantasy books when you're, like, basically living in one, but there's…" He trails off again, looking down the quilt twisted in his fingers. "There's an escape. Just— getting out of yourself, for a while."</p>
<p>Eliot hums. "Not everyone wants that, I guess."</p>
<p>"I guess," Quentin agrees. "Either way, they didn't… get it. But it really was mostly fine. I had Julia, and there was a lot of space to, like, relax and explore and, you know, be by myself if I wanted to." And sometimes when he didn't want to, but that was beside the point.</p>
<p>"Well," Eliot says after a moment, leaning on his arms again, "I know some packs don't share Margo's enthusiasm for individualism. But I don't know what your alpha expected, taking in tenderfoots. If they weren't willing to slow down for you, why even bother?"</p>
<p>"In their defense, it wasn't entirely what they wanted," Quentin points out, wry again. "I mean, it was pretty clear without them saying that they would've rather just had Julia, but she refused to budge on us being a package deal. So, we just kind of... lived with it."</p>
<p>He smooths the quilt out over his lap before he risks a glance at Eliot, and is surprised to see his jaw clenched like he's biting something back. It's a long few seconds before Eliot takes a breath and meets Quentin's eye again.</p>
<p>"Okay, look. Maybe it really wasn't that bad," he allows, his voice hard and— pleading, almost. "But pretending they were nicer to you than they actually were won't make you feel any better. Trust me, it's not worth it."</p>
<p>Something in Quentin trembles at his tone. He makes himself look away before it spreads through the rest of him. "Is— um, is this some weird... 'letting go' thing?" he manages, a little wobbly. "About forgiving people, or whatever?"</p>
<p>"What? No," Eliot says, frowning. "I mean, if you want to, sure. But in my opinion? Fuck those guys."</p>
<p>"Right, I'm just— I'm not sure if I can really, um. Commit to that, just yet," Quentin says, swallowing hard and trying to keep his voice even. "They're not even— I mean, it's not like I'll ever... see them again."</p>
<p>He hears Eliot pause, and then let out a quiet sigh. "Fair. But that doesn't mean you can't be angry."</p>
<p>"I don't know if I am, though," Quentin admits. He rubs at his eyes, more to avoid looking up than anything. "I think I'm just... tired."</p>
<p>"That's fair too," Eliot says softly, and Quentin feels a hand on his shoulder, gentle. "Come on. Lie down."</p>
<p>He lets Eliot help him shift over to lie across the couch properly, with his head pillowed on his arm and the quilt pulled up over his shoulders. Exhaustion presses down on him like a second, heavier blanket, but after spending so long chasing sleep he finds himself fighting to keep his eyes open instead.</p>
<p>There's something about the space between them - maybe it's the quiet bubble of late-night honesty they've constructed, or maybe it's the moonlight falling across the two of them, or it's just the knowledge that the rest of the pack is at the edge of Quentin's mind but Eliot is the one that's here, sitting with him, keeping watch like he said he would - but something about it is... safe, in a way no other place has managed to lull Quentin into believing since he and Julia first hit the ground.</p>
<p>Or it could be that he's just too exhausted to be anxious anymore. Either way, he has a question of his own that he wants to ask while they're still in this weird moonlit sincerity. He's not sure if he'll be able to get the words out anywhere else.</p>
<p>"Hey, um," he starts, pushing himself up just far enough to get Eliot hovering near him, ready to ease him back down. "You know how there's— there's the bond, and then there's the other part of it, the thought-sharing?"</p>
<p>Eliot gives him a wry look. "I'm aware, yes."</p>
<p>"I know it's all supposed to take time to settle properly," Quentin says hurriedly, "but Margo could already use it earlier tonight, to tell us to come upstairs, and—"</p>
<p>"She's the alpha," Eliot points out, but Quentin shakes his head.</p>
<p>"You did it too, in the hallway." He barely waits for Eliot to concede with a shrug before he plows on. "I've only been part of your pack for, you know, a few hours, tops, and maybe it's not the same when it's coming from the other direction, but— do you think—" He has to pause before he chokes on it, and when he starts again it's quieter. "Do you think I could make it work?"</p>
<p>The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying. Quentin isn't sure he even wants to bother getting his hopes up - but he thinks again of Julia, so earnest in the sunlight, saying <i>This could be the real thing for you</i>, and knows it's already too late to try to bring them down.</p>
<p>"Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out," Eliot says, after thinking about it for a moment. He sits back, leaning on his palms, and raises his eyebrows at Quentin. "Send me something."</p>
<p>"Um, okay," Quentin breathes, his heart suddenly racing. "What do you want me to—"</p>
<p>"Anything, Quentin," Eliot laughs, head lolling on his shoulder. "Just try it."</p>
<p>Quentin nods and presses his lips together. He spent so long only ever sharing his thoughts with Julia, he's not sure if he even knows how to reach anyone else. But he takes a breath, concentrating on the parts of the bond he recognizes, following the threads to the clearest, brightest point in front of him— </p>
<p>
  <i>Eliot.</i>
</p>
<p>He doesn't even realize he's closed his eyes until he's blinking them open again and finding Eliot, still sitting on the floor, smiling like Quentin has done something— unexpected, perhaps, but ultimately endearing, or maybe embarrassing? Quentin is too nervous to tell the difference.</p>
<p>"Did it work?" he asks, a little breathless, everything in him wound tight. "Did it— did you hear it? I'm not sure if I—"</p>
<p><i>I heard you.</i> Eliot's voice slips easily into his mind like there's a space already carved out for it there. Relief crests over Quentin in a wave, rushing in his ears and almost drowning out the rest of Eliot's words. <i>A little quiet, but pretty good for day one hour six, or whatever we're on.</i> And then, out loud, still smiling at Quentin - "One more time?"</p>
<p>Quentin tries to gather enough of himself to send something else through the bond, but his relief at Eliot actually hearing him, at the bond actually <i>working</i>, leaves him giddy and dazed and even more tired than before. He keeps getting only two or three words into a thought before he loses focus, and eventually just flops back down on the couch, half to hide his wobbly grin and half because his arm gives out. Eliot doesn't seem annoyed though, or even surprised, and if he wonders why Quentin has such an extreme reaction to such a simple achievement, he's polite enough not to ask - or he just puts it down to sleep-deprivation, which Quentin can admit is not too far off the mark. </p>
<p>"Think you can sleep now?" Eliot asks, peering down at him while he tugs the quilt back up over Quentin's shoulder. Quentin thinks the word <i>Thanks</i> very hard, but he's not sure if Eliot's snicker means he heard it or is just laughing at Quentin's tiredly-concentrated expression. It's getting hard to keep his eyes open again. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Goodnight, Q."</p>
<p>Quentin gets one last glimpse of him still smiling in that unexpectedly-endeared way before the thick blanket of exhaustion presses down again, and he's asleep within seconds.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's a good day!!!!!!!! in this chapter quentin learns even more werewolf exposition and makes some new friends* (*not actually)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite all assurances that he wouldn't be laughed out of any given room for asking stupid questions, when it came to the mysterious workings of the pack house's ground floor, Quentin could never quite manage to bring it up. Now, hovering at the top of the stairs and casting anxious glances down the shadowy steps, he regrets it a little. The whole situation would be a sight less stressful if he had any idea what could be waiting down below.</p>
<p>He had a vague hypothesis that it might be a restaurant or something, since he glimpsed the booths and chairs through the windows in the courtyard, but putting something like that right underneath a werewolf den seems like a weird choice. And he couldn't picture Margo waiting tables, either. Regardless, whatever sort of storefront might be down there had been closed for the week since Quentin and Julia arrived, and Quentin honestly had sort of forgotten about it - until yesterday, when Margo and Eliot started talking about <i>reopening</i>, and then spent most of the day downstairs doing whatever that entailed and not elaborating much on the process.</p>
<p>For the most part, Quentin had been fine with not knowing. He was curious, sure, but he was also already anxious enough just trying to navigate, like, living there, so getting involved in whatever business venture Margo kept in the basement was kind of low in his priorities. He was more focused on trying to feel settled, for once.</p>
<p>Julia, of course, had a lot of ideas about this, and her most recent one had the two of them rifling through the attic in an attempt to find bits and pieces to make their shared room look a little less like it used to be a storage closet. So far they'd procured a wobbly bedside table, a small wooden shelf with one single ragged paperback on it (a vampire romance novel which Julia insisted on keeping), and a string of soft lights that may or may not have been repurposed Christmas decorations. It was fun, if somewhat dusty, and Quentin figured that they could spend a few more days rummaging around together while the rest of the pack dealt with things on the ground floor.</p>
<p>But that morning, Julia had slipped out of their room early, off to— somewhere with Kady, Quentin thinks. He wasn't quite awake enough to register the full explanation Julia whispered into his mind as she left. That on its own wasn't so bad - the rest of the pack would still be around, and they all seemed fine with letting him hang out at their edges, even if it was in more of a be-nice-to-the-new-kids type of way than a genuine desire for his company. Eliot, on the other hand, would sometimes seek him out, or beckon him over to wherever he and Margo were lounging - their gossip almost always went over Quentin's head, but it was nice to sit nearby and listen to them all the same, whether he was part of the conversation or not. He figured he could pass the day easily with them, no dust or foraging involved.</p>
<p>The problem was that Quentin forgot about the reopening factor. The only glimpse he's gotten of Margo and Eliot since he woke up was when they both headed downstairs first thing, and as they day went on the rest of the pack slowly made their way down as well. Now, as the afternoon has settled in, Quentin is the only one left on the main floor.</p>
<p>Well— not the <i>only</i> one. Penny is just across the room, on the couch beside the windows with his eyes closed, either sleeping or meditating. Quentin only assumes the latter because every time he glances over, Penny furrows his brow a little, as if to warn him off trying to start a conversation. Quentin decides not to risk it.</p>
<p>The stairwell, when he peeks down it for what feels like the hundredth time, is as dark and mysterious as it's always been. The sounds he can make out from whatever is beyond it are too faint and muffled to be anything more than daunting. The longer he looks, the more he feels himself being drawn back towards the safety of the attic bedroom - but he doesn't want to just sit up there by himself and wait for Julia to return. Maybe it's part of the pack bond, but there's <i>something</i> that keeps him hovering by the staircase, some part of him that just wants to be around people. Around his pack. </p>
<p>They're all within reach, just one floor below, Margo, Alice, Josh— and Eliot, and at that thought Quentin inches a little closer to the top step. They haven't really talked, just the two of them, since that first night, but still Quentin has found that whenever he isn't with Julia, he does… gravitate towards Eliot, just a little. He's just easy to be around, to <i>relax</i> around - and Quentin would really love to relax instead of agonizing over whether or not he's going to brave this flight of stairs.</p>
<p><i>For fuck sake,</i> Penny's voice clangs into his mind. Quentin jumps and whirls around, but Penny hasn't moved from the couch except to bring one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. <i>I can't concentrate with you pacing around like that. Just go already, jesus.</i></p>
<p>"Right, sorry," Quentin stammers out, wincing at how loud his own voice seems. <i>Sorry,</i> he sends through the bond instead, and feels more than hears Penny heave a sigh.</p>
<p>He turns and scurries down the stairs more to escape the situation than anything, and only realizes what he's doing when he's reached the bottom step. With a sheepish glance backwards, he considers sending Penny his thanks, but ultimately decides it's not worth incurring any further wrath. And besides, within a few seconds curiosity drives everything else from his mind.</p>
<p>The stairs end with a short landing and a corner leading into a hallway. It's brighter here, one wall full of frosted glass through which he can see shelves of coloured bottles catching the light. He can hear voices, clinking glasses, the faint scrape of a chair being moved… and at the end of the hall he turns and comes out into not a restaurant, but a refined and classy-looking bar.</p>
<p>There are booths along the walls framing wide windows, smaller tables dotted around and even a few couches further off. Warm track lights hang from the exposed ceiling, as well as three chrome chandeliers over the bar counter. The whole place has an air of sophistication but without being standoffish, upscale but lowkey, a lot of black and gold and dark wood.</p>
<p>Somehow, it's quieter than Quentin expects. It's not especially big or especially crowded, but there are a fair amount of occupied tables and yet none of the clamor or bustle of the bars he remembers from college. Granted, it's been a while since then, but none of the patrons here look likely to try to talk to him about their business major, so he tentatively counts it as a win.</p>
<p>He can see Margo and Eliot across the room, talking to someone in one of the booths. They seem like they're having a little too much of a good time to be taking anyone's order, but their matching looks of lofty amusement give Quentin the impression that they're still working, in one way or another - or maybe just making fun of someone. Either way, he doesn't want to interrupt if they're occupied, so he pivots and heads over to the bar counter instead, where he can see Josh and Alice.</p>
<p>The counter is sleek and shiny, with glass shelves behind it holding various liquors with expensive-looking labels. There are only a couple other people on the stools around it, but Quentin perches on the one furthest away from them at the very edge of the bar. Josh immediately catches his eye and comes over with a smile.</p>
<p>"Hey, amigo," he greets, already bringing up a glass from under the counter. "I was wondering if you'd end up visiting. Did Penny kick you out?"</p>
<p>Quentin huffs a weak laugh. "A little bit, yeah." He likes Josh, how casual and easygoing he is, friendly but straightforward. "I'm, um… I'm allowed to be down here, right?" </p>
<p>"Yeah, of course!" Josh says with a grin. "Most of us hang out here pretty regularly, even if we're not on duty. You know how Margo is, big on pack involvement and everything. And your snacks and drinks are comped." He twirls the glass in his fingers and sets it down. "What can I get you?"</p>
<p>"Oh, uh—" Quentin glances confusedly at the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. "I thought that— I thought wolves can't drink. Something about metabolism, or… right?"</p>
<p>Josh shrugs. "You can drink, you just can't get, you know, schwasted. For some guys it's more about the taste."</p>
<p>Quentin tries not to grimace. It might have been a while since those college bars, but he remembers enough that he can't imagine wanting to drink hard liquor for the <i>taste</i>. "I think I'm good."</p>
<p>"To each their own," Josh allows, and fills the glass with water from a fancy carafe instead. He slides it towards Quentin and takes a moment to add a miniature umbrella before he moves off down the counter. "Just holler if you need anything."</p>
<p>Quentin nods after him and eventually goes back to looking around the bar, pausing on the street-level view beyond the windows. Sometimes the rooms upstairs have the same secluded sort of ambience as the courtyard, making it easy to forget that they're in the middle of a city, but down here the illusion is impossible. It's a little weird to be reminded, and to be around so many strangers after a week with nobody but the pack, but… it really isn't as anxiety-inducing as Quentin worried it might be.</p>
<p>The current calm atmosphere might only be due to the fact that it's mid-afternoon on a weekday, but it also somehow seems like the sort of place that doesn't really get rowdy - at least not in a way Margo and Eliot can't handle, he thinks wryly, glancing over to where the two of them are still lounging in the booth together. Regardless, it's a pleasant relief to find he feels pretty comfortable down here, even sitting alone at the bar. Although part of that is probably because of the bond, the low-level thrum of assurance that he's not really by himself.</p>
<p>It's weird to have a sense of what a pack bond is <i>supposed</i> to feel like, now. The humming and barely-there murmurings he got used to before can hardly compare. Quentin can't quite imagine it feeling like this with the other pack - honestly, he isn't sure if it's even possible that it <i>could</i> have felt the same as this. It's— deep, layered and musical, in a way, how everyone's presence fits together in his mind. Even now, he can feel all of them around him without needing to look.</p>
<p>Except Kady and Julia, who are too far away to pinpoint exactly, but he can still feel <i>something</i>, can still tell they're connected. If he focused hard enough, he could probably pick out Julia's thread among the others and— well, he's not sure about the range on telepathy, actually. Having it in a fully-functional capacity is still a lot to get over. </p>
<p>It doesn't come as a shock every single time the others speak to him through the bond anymore, at least - Penny got a good couple days' enjoyment out of catching Quentin off-guard and making him drop whatever he was holding - but he doesn't always remember that he can send things back if he wants to. He's still caught up in just how different it all is from before, and how <i>relieved</i> he is to have this, something that feels good and actually works, for once.</p>
<p>But at the same time, Quentin can't help feeling cautious about it, almost nervous. He doesn't remember what the pack bond started out like last time, but he does know what it ended up as. This new wonder, no matter how nice it feels, how captivating and intense and <i>right</i>— he can't shake the growing worry that none of it will last.</p>
<p>He's not sure how long he spends swiping his fingers absentmindedly through the condensation on the glass until a tap on his shoulder makes him nearly upend it.</p>
<p>"Hey, what's up?" The unnoticed newcomer, a young man with wide eyes and a polo shirt, grins as he leans on the counter beside Quentin, apparently oblivious to startling him. "You're Margo's new recruit, right?"</p>
<p>"Uh—" It takes Quentin a long, stilted moment to push the unease from his mind and register the stranger's scent as <i>wolf</i>. "One of them, yeah," he finally manages, trying his best to smile. "You, um— you know her?"</p>
<p>"Everyone who comes here knows Margo," the guy laughs. "I think you have to, to get the invite, you know? Her and Eliot, they, like, <i>run</i> this place. Literally. It's awesome, right?" Quentin isn't given much chance to relay his own opinion before a hand is thrust at him. "Anyway, great to meet you, man. I'm—"</p>
<p>"Todd," Eliot sighs, appearing suddenly behind the counter across from them. Quentin only just manages to keep from toppling his glass again. "Don't you have a refill to procure?"</p>
<p>His tone is dry enough to make even Quentin feel a little nervous, but rather than blanching as expected, Todd brightens up. "Right, yeah, thanks!" he says breathlessly, and scurries away to flag Josh down.</p>
<p>Eliot watches him go, shaking his head with a look of distaste before he turns to Quentin instead, and his expression smooths out into a smile. "Crisis averted. You're welcome."</p>
<p>Quentin tries to frown at him, but it doesn't really work. "You teleported over here just for that? He was being friendly."</p>
<p>"Exactly," Eliot says seriously. "I've put too much time and effort into avoiding Todd at all costs to have him latch onto you. He's a menace."</p>
<p>"Really? He seemed nice." A little overeager, maybe, but Quentin can't in good conscience call the kettle black on that one.</p>
<p>"Just wait until he tries to scout you for his lacrosse team," Eliot huffs under his breath. "But enough about Todd." He leans his palms on the edge of the counter, fixing Quentin with an inquisitive smirk. "What brings you down here? Finally curious enough to take a gander around our establishment?"</p>
<p>"Something like that," Quentin says quickly. Truthfully, he's already gotten what he came for, sitting here with Eliot - but he figures the less needy he comes off as, the better. "So, um— what is this place?"</p>
<p>Eliot's eyes seem to sparkle a little as he straightens up and clears his throat, one hand on his chest like a monologuing actor, or an enthusiastic tour guide. "You are sitting in the Haven Public House, our pride and joy and passion project," he says loftily. "Owned, operated by, and catering <i>exclusively</i> to New York City wolves."</p>
<p>Quentin blinks in surprise and turns to stare around the rest of the bar. "Wait, they're all— everyone in here is a werewolf?" He hadn't really noticed in his first cursory glances, but now that he's paying attention it's almost painfully obvious that the air is full of different wolf scents. Maybe he was a little more anxious than he thought, if he managed to miss that. Or maybe he's just used to ignoring strangers whenever and wherever possible.</p>
<p>But it's still kind of thrilling to think about. A werewolf-only space that isn't hidden away in the middle of nowhere. Nobody is hiding, here. </p>
<p>Some of his awe must show on his face, because Eliot laughs when he turns back around. "You'll get used to it," he promises.</p>
<p>"Why a pub, though?" Quentin asks, folding his arms on the counter in an attempt not to gesture wildly.</p>
<p>"Well, as you may have guessed, there isn't a lot of hunting ground in the city," Eliot sighs, waving a hand. "But we have a standing agreement with a wolf-friendly butcher, and a very large freezer in the back. The local farmers' market is nice too - no wolves there, usually, but Josh has an obsession with fresh produce and the idea of a seasonal menu."</p>
<p>"But what about all those?" Quentin points to the many alcohols behind the counter, one of which Josh is reaching up for. "Like, why a bar, of all things, when werewolves can't— you know, get drunk? I mean, do people actually ask for real drinks?"</p>
<p>"Probably more than you'd think," Josh answers, twisting the cap off.</p>
<p>Smiling wryly, Eliot passes him a martini glass before leaning on the counter again to raise an eyebrow at Quentin. "Flagging down the barkeep for an apple juice on the rocks doesn't really have the same effect, you understand."</p>
<p>Quentin pauses. "You can order that here?"</p>
<p>"It's on the secret menu," Josh says sagely, and returns to his cocktail.</p>
<p>"We wanted to be more than just a glorified clubhouse," Eliot explains, drawing Quentin's attention back to him. "It's about the look and feel, the cultivated aesthetic. We envisioned Haven as a respected hub for city wolves."</p>
<p>It's not hard to see how much he cares about it, and Quentin believes every word. He wonders just how long it took both Eliot and Margo to build Haven up to what it is now - somehow he can't quite picture it in any sort of less-impressive state than it's currently in. He tells Eliot as much, when he notices him watching, apparently waiting for a reaction, and though Eliot waves him off, Quentin can tell he's preening a little.</p>
<p>"It's just so beyond anything I've ever even— like, considered as an option," he says in a rush, hoping he sounds more sincere than scatterbrained. "All of this, just… here, in plain sight. How do you keep people from just wandering in?"</p>
<p>Eliot snorts. "Clueless humans, you mean?"</p>
<p>Sheepish, Quentin nods. In the forest, the most they ever had to do to keep people away was howl a little too close for comfort, and that worked for months at a time. In the city, though… something like a <i>Werewolves Only</i> sign in the window would probably be a bit too conspicuous. "Is there, like, a bouncer or something?"</p>
<p>"Not really, unless you count Margo," Eliot says with a laugh. "Her alpha influence keeps most strangers out, and— well, you've had firsthand experience with Charmspeak, so you can imagine how easily that turns away even the most determined of assholes. For when she's not around, though, we have some runes installed on the front doors, and the courtyard gate."</p>
<p>Quentin frowns in confusion. "Runes?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, courtesy of the local coven," Eliot says, grinning as he leans a little closer. "For intimidation. They manifest sudden intense doubt on whether you're cool enough to cross the threshold. It's enough to take care of most people we'd rather not have on the premises—"</p>
<p>At that moment, there's a sharp tinkling of shattered glass hitting the floor across the bar. Eliot glances over Quentin's shoulder and gives a long suffering sigh. "Not Todd, unfortunately," he says tightly, straightening up. "Excuse me a moment."</p>
<p>He comes around the counter and strides purposefully over to a far table, leaving Quentin with Josh and Alice who are both pretending not to watch the altercation, but also both biting back laughter.</p>
<p>"So, by 'coven'," Quentin starts, somewhat hesitant, "did he mean… like, witches?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, what else?" Josh says easily. Then, seeing Quentin struggle to keep the shock off his face - "Oh man, you knew about witches, right? I didn't just give you a reverse Santa Claus, did I?"</p>
<p>"What? No, I know witches <i>exist</i>," Quentin says, trying to get his bewilderment under control. "I've just never really, um, met one. Personally."</p>
<p>Josh seems to breathe a legitimate sigh of relief. "Well, you know Kady. She was a witch before she was turned."</p>
<p>"Oh." Quentin blinks at him. "She— really?"</p>
<p>"That's not really our story to tell," Alice cuts in, giving Josh a pointed look. "She’s still in contact with her old coven, though. She's kind of an emissary now, brokering things between wolves and witches - like the security runes Eliot mentioned." She frowns at Quentin for a moment. "Isn’t that where she and Julia went today, to meet up with the coven?"</p>
<p>It takes Quentin a second to realize she's expecting an answer, and he scrambles for his vague memory of whatever Julia had sent into his mind that morning. Maybe there was something about witches in there, but he was very tired. "Uh, could be, yeah."</p>
<p>Alice nods. "I’m sure you’ll hear about it, then. But don’t go asking around about her past, or anyone else’s." She shoots Josh another disproving glare and he sheepishly mimes locking his lips shut. "It’s none of our business."</p>
<p>Even Quentin feels a little cowed by that, although he was hardly planning on seeking out gossip. Josh, on the other hand, seems to forget about the imaginary key he tossed over his shoulder as soon as Alice’s back is turned. "Everyone around here plays their origin stories real close to the chest," he explains, tapping his shirt pocket knowingly, then he shrugs. "Though, personally, I don’t mind talking about mine."</p>
<p>"Like, how you were turned?" Quentin asks, curious despite himself. "What happened?"</p>
<p>Josh settles one elbow on the bartop with a grin. "Have you ever seen <i>An American Werewolf in London</i>?"</p>
<p>Before Quentin can respond, Eliot reappears at the counter and leans past him to grab the towel Alice is already holding out. "How Todd manages to spread six ounces of Sprite across three tables, I will never understand," he huffs. "Can one of you get the broom?"</p>
<p>Josh nods and heads around the side of the bar. Eliot starts back the way he came with a sigh, and Quentin slips off his stool to follow him. "Do you need a hand? I can—"</p>
<p>"Ah, actually," Eliot interrupts, grasping his shoulder and steering him back to the counter, "why don't you keep taking advantage of your chore-exempt status and sit this one out?"</p>
<p>"Why?" Quentin asks, frowning up at him. "I want to help."</p>
<p>"It's... pretty clear you haven't been around here very long, is all," Eliot says slowly, like he's trying to put it nicely.</p>
<p>Quentin furrows his brow. "Yeah, so?"</p>
<p>Eliot sighs and leans a little closer to him. <i>Maybe not a great idea to show off how new you are to a bunch of seasoned wolves</i>. His voice is a low rumble in Quentin's mind, slipping in so smoothly that Quentin almost forgets he can respond.</p>
<p><i>What does that mean?</i> he tries, maybe a little more annoyed than he means to be - but Eliot squeezes his shoulder and steps back without answering.</p>
<p>"Just give it a few days, okay?" he says, out loud but still in a murmur. He smiles apologetically as he slips away, leaving Quentin staring after him with a pit in his stomach.</p>
<p>Josh passes by with a broom in hand, but pauses to give Quentin a reassuring look. "Things might be a little testy right now, but Margo and Eliot will handle it," he says confidently. "Don't worry, it'll all blow over by the time the full moon is up." With that, he heads off after Eliot.</p>
<p>Quentin turns back to the counter, trying not to do anything stupid like pout or sulk. He's not even sure why he's upset, or where the simmering, sour feeling in his chest came from. Alice takes one look at him and seems to come to a decision.</p>
<p>"Hey, wanna come upstairs with me?" she asks, giving him a shy smile. "They might be a while, and… there's something I want to show you, actually."</p>
<p>Quentin agrees easily enough. The discomfort he expected to find himself in earlier has suddenly arrived in full-force, and going back upstairs seems like a solid idea. He follows Alice around the side of the counter and back into the short hallway leading to the staircase. The sour feeling grows with every step, until halfway up the stairs it starts to spill out.</p>
<p>"Do you know what Josh meant?" he asks, meeting Alice's questioning glance with a steady frown. "What's there to handle? Some weird... werewolf hazing thing?"</p>
<p>"Not exactly," Alice says carefully. "It's, um— you don't really… smell like one of us, yet. It's the kind of thing that takes a while to settle."</p>
<p>Quentin glances confusedly down at himself and back up. "So what do I smell like?"</p>
<p>Alice smiles a little. "Well, yourself, mostly. And from your clothes, a bit like Penny," she adds, as they come up the last few steps and see him still reclined on the couch. "But there's also— you and Julia have this… other scent. It's not very strong, but I think the other wolves can still sense it, and some of them have, um... different ideas about it."</p>
<p>She immediately starts towards the hall, but Quentin pauses by the railing. "What do you mean? Julia and I haven't been anywhere but here. How could we have picked up a scent like—"</p>
<p>"You already had it," Penny cuts him off, heaving himself up to face them with a huff. "It's been on you the whole time. It's from your other pack."</p>
<p>"Oh." Something heavy and cold sinks down into Quentin's stomach. "So what does— I mean, is that... bad?"</p>
<p>"No," Alice says quickly, shooting Penny a sharp look. "It's just— it complicates things."</p>
<p>"The others can tell you came from another pack," Penny sighs, "and there's only so many reasons why you would be looking for a new one."</p>
<p>Quentin swallows hard. In the past few days of calm, he had almost managed to forget the stray factor still hanging over them. "But— we weren't <i>looking</i> for anything, Margo <i>offered</i>—"</p>
<p>"We know, Quentin," Alice says gently, stepping closer to him. "But the others don't. Margo didn't tell them the whole story, just that there would be a couple new faces around Haven. Some of them have just… drawn their own conclusions."</p>
<p>The cold drops even further, taking most of the feeling in Quentin's legs with it. "So they all know we're strays," he says thickly, fighting a strange urge to laugh. "And they think we— what, left on purpose? Did it to ourselves?" He's not sure if that's better or worse than everyone knowing the truth.</p>
<p>"I don't really know what they think," Alice admits. "I <i>do</i> know that not all of them care, though. And no one who does would dare cause a problem here, not with Margo around." She gives him a tentative smile, reaching out to touch his arm. "But that's why Eliot wanted you to stay back - just in case anyone tried to ask you about it."</p>
<p>Quentin finds it a little harder to scowl at the floor, suddenly. He keeps trying anyway. "Why didn't he just say that, instead of—"</p>
<p>"He probably knew you'd freak out," Penny huffs, and then, after another pointed look from Alice, "or he didn't want you to worry about it, or whatever."</p>
<p>"A bit too late for that," Quentin grumbles, but he can feel himself deflating, the cold retreating.</p>
<p>Alice's hand slides down to his wrist, and then falls away. "It won't last, Quentin," she says softly. "The full moon is in a few days, and nobody will care after that. Right, Penny?"</p>
<p>She turns to him but he's already reclining on the couch again, and shrugs as he settles in. "Yeah, sure." Not supremely reassuring, but Quentin isn't sure what he expected.</p>
<p>He lets Alice lead him down the hall to her bedroom, not taking in much more than the cool blue walls and the fact that it's across from Eliot's before she offers him a seat at the end of her bed. Quentin sits and watches her start to rummage through the truly impressive stack of papers and notebooks on and around her desk, but he's still too preoccupied to work up much curiosity about them.</p>
<p>"Was it like this when you joined the pack?" he asks, frowning at a scrap of paper that flutters to the floor. "This... 'testy'?"</p>
<p>"Not really," Alice says distractedly, flipping through a notebook. "But it's not exactly a fair comparison. I mean, I'd never been part of a pack before, and you and Julia…"</p>
<p>"Oh. Right." Quentin tucks his hair behind his ear with a weak laugh. "I guess our situation is kind of uncommon, huh."</p>
<p>Alice pauses in her rifling to give him a softer look. "It's atypical, sure, but— well, Margo is kind of known for that."</p>
<p>Quentin blinks at her. "For taking in strays?"</p>
<p>"For making a place for people without one." She puts the notebook down and comes to sit next to him on the bed. "We were all alone in one way or another before we met her. Not strays necessarily, but... wolves without a pack."</p>
<p>The dots connect slowly as Quentin nods along. "So... Margo didn't—?"</p>
<p>"She didn't turn any of us, no," Alice says, smiling thinly at him. "I know that's kind of unusual. It's way more common to join the pack of whoever bites you. But sometimes that's not an option."</p>
<p>"Right," Quentin hums, thinking of Julia curled up beside him in the moonlight. "If they don't have a pack, or if they're not an alpha."</p>
<p>"Or if you were turned against your will," Alice adds, almost absently. Quentin thinks of Julia again, his stomach twisting at the blurry memory of teeth marks on her arm - and then of a much different night, a different context, a different bite. After Alice's earlier words about not telling others’ stories, it seems only right to tell his own.</p>
<p>"I asked Julia to turn me," he says haltingly, hardly realizing the words are out until Alice looks up. He can't quite meet her eye, though he can feel her gaze on him. "It was— well. Not, like, <i>nice</i>, but she made it... easier." He's not sure how else to explain the way Julia wrapped around him, the way she held onto him while he shook and shivered under the moon.</p>
<p>He does glance at Alice then, and finds her giving him a thoughtful look that he can't quite read. "I think I get what you mean," she says quietly, smiling just a little. "I was turned by my brother. It wasn't painless, but I knew he got as close as he could."</p>
<p>Quentin wonders if their situation was the same, her not wanting him to be alone, and him admitting afterwards that he didn't want that either. Alice's soft, faraway look makes him think he might be right, but it's gone before he can ask. She takes a breath and touches Quentin's wrist again.</p>
<p>"My point about Margo’s pack is that all of us came from different corners, different situations, and all of us found a place here," she says, softer now. "This pack is… it's different. Margo wants everyone to be here as a choice, not just out of convenience, or obligation to their sire. You get that, right?"</p>
<p>Quentin remembers, suddenly, what Margo had said when asking him and Julia to join her, the words coming back to him almost as clearly as if she was speaking them through the bond - <i>Where you came from doesn't have to matter,</i> and <i>You're here now</i>, and <i>You don't have to do it by yourselves.</i> "Yeah," he says, ducking his head and swallowing hard. "I, um. I think I do."</p>
<p>"Good," Alice says, then leans a little closer, her voice gentle. "Don't worry about what the other wolves might think, okay? What matters is that you and Julia are with us, now. You're part of this."</p>
<p>There's still something in the back of his mind that's wary of how certain she makes it sound, how permanent, when he knows it's anything but. He nods anyway, and clears his throat before looking up and carefully taking his arm back.</p>
<p>"So, um, what did you want to show me?" he asks, relieved when Alice lights up instead of questioning the abrupt subject change.</p>
<p>"Oh, that's right!" She all but jumps up from the bed to go back to the desk, spreading some papers out. "Come here, take a look."</p>
<p>Quentin follows her over and is surprised to notice it's not just the surface of the desk that's covered in pages and folders, but the wall behind it is also plastered with them nearly to the ceiling. He's really not sure how he missed all the drawings and symbols in among the pages of cramped notes, let alone the threads running between the different pushpins holding it all up. "Whoa. What is this?"</p>
<p>"It's, um, a research project," Alice explains, touching her glasses nervously. "It's based around werewolf anthropology, mostly social and biological. Wolves have been around for centuries, but there's not much of a physical record of— well, anything. So much is passed through word of mouth or just kept between pack members, it gets difficult to trace."</p>
<p>She points out one pile of folders on the desk, each labelled with a name - Quentin sees Penny's, Margo's, Kady's— even Todd's. "I've been interviewing our pack and some of the Haven regulars, just to start a data pool. There's a lot to compare between different backgrounds, ages of turning, pack dynamics… pack structure, even. I'm not sure if it's possible to make any sort of genealogic tree, through alphas and sires, though that would be interesting— and then there's bonds," she goes on, reaching for another stack of notes to spread out. "The effects that pack bonds have on not only strength and stamina but emotional wellbeing, the alpha's role in that and how it differs between wolves… Was anyone in your other pack mate-bonded?"</p>
<p>"Uh—" Quentin flounders for a moment, thrown by the sudden question. "Yeah, but I never— I didn't really talk to them about it." He was curious, sure, about the way Menolly and Bender sometimes looked at each other, but it was too much to even consider asking them about. Maybe Julia could have, but Quentin already felt enough like he was intruding on something not meant for him when he was around the rest of the pack. "Sorry, I guess that doesn't help." </p>
<p>But Alice barely seems to hear him, waving her hand vaguely. "Mate bonds are so wildly different from pair to pair, anyway. In all my interviews, the only thing that's really constant across the board is a shared inclination towards physical proximity, and some sort of— emotional perception, I think. But the rest is all over the place depending who you ask."</p>
<p>Sighing, she looks up at the wall of pins and thread. "It's just one more thing that there's no information about, and it's— <i>baffling</i> to me that no one has ever tried to make any sort of compilation or comparison, with any of this. It's just..." She trails off, blinking, and seems to take a moment to refocus herself before she turns back to Quentin. "There's just so much unrecorded history here. I want to collect as much as I can. Preserve it, I guess." Her expression turns meek as she adjusts her glasses again. "I mean, it's not much yet, and it's nowhere near finished—"</p>
<p>"Are you kidding? This is incredible," Quentin assures her, eyes wandering up and down the wall. "How long have you been doing this?"</p>
<p>"About a year, maybe two?" Alice says, and smiles shyly when Quentin whistles. "I used to keep it all up in the loft, but Margo told me it started to look too much like a serial killer's basement."</p>
<p>Quentin gives her an exaggerated grimace. "I wasn't going to say anything."</p>
<p>"Hey, this is actually the more organized version," she laughs, shooting him a playful glare before turning to run her fingers over a few loose pages. "Nearly all of it is focused on turned wolves right now, but I'd really like to interview some born wolves, if I ever meet any that are willing…"</p>
<p>"Like those really old wolf families?" Quentin asks, scanning the wall. "Are there any in the city? I thought those packs only lived in, like, super rural areas." Even living in the woods, his old pack never crossed paths with any born wolves.</p>
<p>Alice looks almost wistful. "Yeah, they don't usually leave their own territory, let alone come anywhere near the city. Those packs go back generations, and I'm sure there's a lot of oral history only passed down through family members, but they keep such close ranks…" She trails off with a sigh. "It's basically impossible to get an in. Especially as someone who was bitten."</p>
<p>"Oh." Quentin frowns. "Does that... matter?"</p>
<p>"They can be kind of elitist about it," Alice says, tight in a way that makes Quentin assume she's understating it. "I mean, there <i>is</i> a difference between being brought into the pack and the bond, versus being born into it, connected to your family since birth— but all that 'pure bloodlines' stuff is garbage." She crosses her arms with a huff. "I know I'm biased, but I don't even think the pack bond is any stronger between born wolves. Certainly not <i>unbreakable</i>, or whatever. I think everyone just assumes that because they're all so isolated, and no one ever strays."</p>
<p>Quentin tries not to wince and doesn't quite manage it. "I guess that makes sense," he says, hoping it sounds light rather than wobbly. "I can't really imagine why you would want to break a bond like that."</p>
<p>He feels Alice's eyes on him, but keeps his own downcast, fixed on a stack of papers without really seeing what's written on them. "Family can mean different things to different people, I guess," she says eventually. "Wolf or not." </p>
<p>There's a moment of quiet that Quentin worries is going to stretch far further than it actually does, broken when Alice slips a notebook out from under the papers he's settled his gaze on. "So… now that you know the basis of this whole thing," she says, starting tentative but quickly regaining momentum, "do you want to help?"</p>
<p>"Um—" Quentin takes a second to blink hard, pushing the rest of the conversation away and turning to face her. "Sure, what can I do?"</p>
<p>"Well, like you said, you and Julia have a unique situation," Alice says, excitement already returning to her eyes. "You've been part of two different packs. It's an experience none of the rest of us have had."</p>
<p>Quentin pauses, furrowing his brow as Alice pulls out the desk chair. "Are you sure?"</p>
<p>Alice looks up, almost seeming offended for a moment. "Yes," she says slowly, eyes narrowing. "Of course I'm sure. I did all the interviews myself."</p>
<p>Her voice edges on sharp and Quentin stumbles to backtrack. "Sorry, yeah, I— I just thought that—" Hadn't Eliot said he felt the same thing Quentin did? The quiet, the missing people you didn't want back… but maybe Quentin misunderstood. "Uh, nevermind. I'll just, um— do you want to— right here?"</p>
<p>He settles somewhat stiffly on the bed again, while Alice seems to forcibly unruffle herself and grabs a pen before she sits primly in the chair, turned to face him. "Right now, I'm most interested in how the bond is settling for you," she lays out. "If it feels any different from the first one, or if there's any overlap… things like that."</p>
<p>"Yeah, sure, um…" Well, the biggest difference that comes to mind is probably that he can hear his packmates' thoughts without having to strain something in the attempt, but Quentin isn't really sure how to explain <i>why</i> that's so revelatory to him - or if he even wants to. He spares a thought for potentially skewing Alice's data as he tells her a slightly edited version of his experience, centering more on the strength of the new bond compared to the old one and skipping over the almost laughable juxtaposition of the two.</p>
<p>He never even liked the feeling of thought-sharing before, way back when he could still feel it, but that's different too, now - it's less rankling, less hard-edged, never forced. It's more like the others' thoughts just slip in right alongside his own, almost without him realizing, sometimes. Or at least, Eliot's do. But then Quentin remembers he's trying to be annoyed with Eliot for a little longer, and pushes the thought away to focus on the rest of Alice's questions.</p>
<p>By the end of them, though, she seems… not disappointed, exactly, but maybe like she expected a bit more. Quentin feels strangely guilty as she flips her notebook shut, and bites down on the urge to apologize.</p>
<p>"Well, I'm sure I'll ask you to do this again, at some point," Alice says, only half a sigh. "Maybe after the full moon."</p>
<p>"Whenever," Quentin concedes, trying to sound eager. "Do you think the moon will… like, change anything?"</p>
<p>Alice hums as she swivels the chair back to her desk. "Not sure. I think you can expect the usual - heightened senses, emotions, bonds... It might feel a little different than it used to, but who knows?" She pauses for a second, then looks back at him with her eyebrows raised. "Actually, checking in afterwards is probably a good idea."</p>
<p>"Sure, yeah," Quentin says with a nod. "And, I mean— you can ask Julia about this stuff too. She might have more to say than I do."</p>
<p>"I'd like to," Alice agrees, "but honestly, I might not get the chance for a while. Kady seems really determined to get her involved with the coven."</p>
<p>"You think so? With the... emissary-ing?" Quentin squints a little. "What does that even mean, exactly? Like, what does she... do?"</p>
<p>Alice presses her lips together like she's trying not to laugh. "Well, like I said before, she sets up all sorts of transactions between the witches and other wolves," she explains. "For supplies, security, or just favours. I think she also helps them out with spells, sometimes. Wolves can't really do that type of magic ourselves, but there's group rituals she's told me about - which is really a testament to Kady's reputation, actually," she adds, with a distant look of admiration. "I don't think they would trust any other wolf to cast with them."</p>
<p>"Why not?" Quentin asks, frowning when Alice just waves a hand.</p>
<p>"Oh, you know. It's that whole stupid rivalry thing."</p>
<p>Quentin waits for her to say more, but that seems to be her entire explanation. "Um. The what?"</p>
<p>Alice gives him an incredulous look. "The age-old feud between witches and werewolves? The centuries of estrangement and bad blood? Kady and Margo are both huge proponents for bridging the gap and—" She cuts off, seemingly baffled by Quentin's blank expression. "How have you never heard of this?"</p>
<p>"I don't know!" Quentin says defensively, throwing his hands up. "Corrigan never really talked about witches, I guess? Other than, like, swamp hags, and I wasn't really looking for an opportunity to talk history with any of them—"</p>
<p>"Okay, you know what?" Alice turns to fish around on the desk underneath various stacks of notes and folders, until she triumphantly brandishes a small leather moleskine. She rolls her chair over to hand it to Quentin, and up close he can see a crescent moon embossed on the worn cover. "Here. It's kind of a storybook, a collection of common wolf fables and folklore."</p>
<p>Wide-eyed, Quentin looks from her to the book in his hands and back again. "I thought you said there wasn't any physical record of things like this."</p>
<p>"There isn't," Alice agrees. "I compiled these myself." She starts to smile as Quentin gapes at her, pushing her glasses up one more time. "It's, um, not exactly encyclopedic, though - some of the stories are incomplete, or have multiple endings, and a couple I had to translate - but it's something. And the one about witches is definitely in there."</p>
<p>"Wow, I'm… wow." Quentin trails his fingers over the cover, catching on the edge of the crescent. It might just be leather and paper, but it feels vibrant against his palms— or maybe that's just eager excitement making his hands shake. He flips through it carefully, revelling at the handwritten titles, the fine, looping script and tiny sketched illustrations. "This is amazing, Alice, holy shit."</p>
<p>The stories don't seem to be in any sort of order, but all of them are almost thrillingly unfamiliar, burning curiosity winning out over the pang of wistfulness for having missed out on so much. He skims a myth about a great dog star, an account of the first Hunter's Moon, a pages-long description of an ancient alpha— </p>
<p><i>You can borrow it, if you want</i>, Alice's voice chimes in his mind, tinkling like laughter.</p>
<p>Quentin looks up at her in surprise and finds her already nodding. "Really? Are you— are you serious?"</p>
<p>"You need the catch-up," she insists, huffing playfully, but a second later her expression changes, softening. "And… I heard you had a bit of a library, before. So maybe this can be the start of a new one."</p>
<p>Quentin's throat feels too tight after that to thank her out loud. He does his best to send it through the bond instead, unsure if he manages anything more than a whisper in her mind, but from Alice's gentle smile, he thinks she understands anyway.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>The small leather book isn't very thick, so for a few days Quentin is careful not to read it too fast. He knows full well he could blast through it in an afternoon if he tried, but he wants to draw out the quiet thrill of it as long as he can. It's not until the day of the full moon, after yet another early morning goodbye from Julia, that curiosity finally gnaws at him hard enough to overcome his desire to savour the experience. He settles in a corner of the couch to search out the story about witches that Alice had mentioned - <i>The Witch and the Wolf</i>, about as straightforward as it'll get, he assumes - and starts to read.<p>He doesn't realize he's frowning down at the page until footsteps on the stairs break his concentration, and he has to actively un-furrow his brow when he looks up.</p>
<p>"Quentin?" Margo calls, all but skipping down the last few steps from the loft with Eliot close behind. She spots Quentin on the couch and grins. "Oh, good, you're not busy."</p>
<p>The two of them head right over, and Quentin barely has time to pull his knees up to get his feet out of the way before Margo sits next to him and pulls Eliot down beside her. Quentin wonders if he'll ever get used to how quickly and completely they can take over a space - probably not, even if he should be by now.</p>
<p>With Julia spending more and more time out with Kady over the past week, Margo and Eliot have sort of... adopted him, just a little. Or whatever is the right word for 'gotten very good at pulling him into their orbit and making him forget his original plans to sit somewhere by himself'. It's not like he'd be spending all his time sulking if they didn't - he's pretty well-practised in alone time, after all - but he's nowhere near complaining. It's kind of nice, actually, to find himself already drawn into their little bubble before he really has a chance to worry about not fitting there.</p>
<p>This time, though, it's the conversation starter that confuses him more than anything.</p>
<p>"I— I am a little bit," he finally manages to say. "I was reading."</p>
<p>Eliot raises an eyebrow at him. "Really? It looked more like you were staring heatedly into space." His gaze drops to the book still open in Quentin's hands. "Unless that did something to personally offend you."</p>
<p>Quentin looks back down at it too, his eyes catching on <i>rivalry for the affections of another</i> and <i>turned friends to bitter enemies</i> before he drags them away, frowning again in almost reflexive distaste. "I mean… kind of, yeah."</p>
<p>"What? Isn't that Alice's book of bedtime stories?" Margo laughs, leaning in for a closer look, but when she sees the page title she gets a look of wry understanding. "Oh, I see. Yeah, that one's dumb as hell."</p>
<p>"I just— <i>this</i> is the reason why witches and werewolves don't get along?" Quentin asks, giving her a pleading stare. "The <i>actual</i> reason? Some stupid love triangle?"</p>
<p>Margo nods in sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."</p>
<p>Grimacing, Quentin makes himself close the book before he accidentally reads the page again. "I can't believe there's a centuries-old blood feud between supernatural beings that we're living through <i>right now</i>, and it all comes down to three people a thousand years ago who couldn’t take five goddamn minutes to figure their shit out," he grumbles. "I mean, like, magic and lycanthropy are fine, but polyamory is too radical a concept?"</p>
<p>"Preaching to the choir, honey," Margo sighs, plucking the book from Quentin's gesturing hands to flip through it herself. "And it gets worse than that."</p>
<p>"Why, what happens?" Quentin asks, wrinkling his nose. He's not sure if he actually wants to know - it can't be especially uplifting, if the animosity is still going on - but Margo only gives him a mischievous smile.</p>
<p>"No spoilers," she says decisively, snapping the small book shut. "You'll have to read on to find out."</p>
<p>"Which you can do later," Eliot interrupts, and untangles himself from Margo's side to stand up from the couch. "We did come down here for a reason, Bambi. Book club can be rescheduled, today's quest cannot."</p>
<p>"Quest?" Quentin perks up at that, glancing between them. "What quest?"</p>
<p>Eliot gives Margo a smug look, and she rolls her eyes at him. "Just a few things that need to get done before tonight's moon," he explains, smoothing out his vest before quirking a smile at Quentin. "Are you available?"</p>
<p>"I— yeah, of course," Quentin says, breathless excitement rising in him as he scrambles to his feet. Eventually being allowed to help out downstairs is one thing, but this, being <i>asked</i> to come along for something— this is different. It takes a lot of willpower to keep his face relatively composed instead of splitting into the grin he can feel coming on.</p>
<p>With a sweeping <i>after you</i> gesture, Eliot starts to usher him towards the stairs down into Haven. Quentin goes eagerly, still nearly giddy with it - but Margo clears her throat loudly from the couch. He turns back to see her holding out a small glass vial stoppered with a cork - he isn't sure where exactly she pulled it from or what's inside, but the contents tinkle together as she gives the vial a delicate rattle. "Better not forget this, huh?" she says sweetly.</p>
<p>Eliot flashes her a guilty smile as he comes back to retrieve it. "That would've made things a little too interesting," he sighs, dropping the vial into his vest pocket and then leaning down to kiss Margo's cheek. "Thanks, Bambi."</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah," Margo hums, waving him off, but she smiles as he and Quentin start down the stairs. "Have fun, boys. See you tonight."</p>
<p>They set out through the front doors of Haven into the breezy summer bustle of the city. Quentin hasn't walked around anywhere so populated in— ages, it feels like, let alone somewhere as bright and lively and stimulating as New York. Not that they're crossing directly through Times Square or anything, but it doesn't take much to be impressed after spending a year in the woods. He tries his best to keep close to Eliot, and whenever he does get distracted by a strong scent or loud noise, Eliot guides him back to his side with gentle nudges through the bond.</p>
<p>It takes Quentin a while to get accustomed enough to their surroundings to realize he's not actually sure where they're going. Eliot walks so confidently that Quentin really hasn't questioned any direction he's led them in. When he's sure that he's completely lost track of where Haven is in relation to where they are, he finally asks Eliot where they're headed.</p>
<p>"We're almost at stop number one," Eliot says easily, but gives no further detail. He seems to sense Quentin's pout forming and smirks playfully as he leads him into a crosswalk. "It's not like you'd know where it is if I told you."</p>
<p>Quentin glances at the unfamiliar names on the closest street sign and decides not to fight him on it. "Okay, well, what's the quest? Or is that a secret, too?"</p>
<p>Eliot gives him a heatless sideways glance before answering. "First, it's getting you out of the house for a while, because I know you've barely gone outside since you arrived— and no, the night of your initiation does <i>not</i> count," he adds, and Quentin closes his mouth with a huff. "So we can cross that off. Second, we're going to set up a very important delivery for our event tonight."</p>
<p>"You mean the full moon?" Just the thought of it stirs up a tiny thrill within him. </p>
<p>"Related to that, yes. It's more of a…" Eliot trails off with a hum. "Well, your other pack probably did something together for these nights, right? Something special, a ritual?"</p>
<p>"Uh— yeah," Quentin says hesitantly, brushing his hair behind his ear. "Not much of a ritual but... Corrigan would lead us on a hunt. He'd spend the whole night shifted - he was kind of easier to be around as a wolf, actually. And afterwards we would, like… just play around, chasing each other through the woods." They're nice memories, unexpectedly easy to think about, with only a slight ache. Those were probably the best nights he had in the pack, the most fun he had with the others. It was hard to be sad or lonely with the moon so big and bright above him, like the light filled him up and pushed out everything else. "We'd stay out until the sun came up, just running around together."</p>
<p>When he glances up, Eliot is nodding, smiling faintly. "That's what a lot of wolves are used to, I think. But, as you can probably imagine, that's not really an option in the city."</p>
<p>He turns suddenly down a new street, and Quentin hurries to catch up. "Right, no hunting ground," he recites, frowning. "So what happens instead?"</p>
<p>"Some wolves make do with a night in," Eliot explains with a shrug. "Deckchairs on the roof, a bit of a howl - they make it work, even here. It just takes discipline and, you know, the desire to avoid a run-in with Animal Control. But some," he adds, more delicately, "don't have the required… self-restraint, shall we say. So rather than leaving them to run wild and potentially hurt anyone, or themselves, we keep Haven open until sunrise." </p>
<p>Quentin blinks, impressed. "Wow. Sorry, I'm not— I don't mean to sound surprised," he says quickly, when Eliot lifts an eyebrow at him. "It's just really... decent of you."</p>
<p>"Don't get the wrong idea," Eliot laughs, rolling his eyes. "It's basically an all-night party. Margo and I have a reputation to uphold, after all."</p>
<p>"It's still pretty cool," Quentin mumbles, pushing his hair out of his face again. "I'm sure it— it probably means a lot to people, having a safe place to go."</p>
<p>"I suppose," Eliot says after a pause, his voice a little stilted, but he bounces back a second later. "Well, regardless - whether you want to be around other wolves who won't let you do anything stupid, or if your pack wants to hang out somewhere less woodsy and with reliable wi-fi, or if you just want to bask under the full moon in our backyard— Haven is known as the place to be."</p>
<p>Quentin nods, but keeps his mouth shut until he works himself up to sneak another glance at Eliot - who doesn't seem fazed, still walking just as confidently as before. "So... what's the delivery?" Quentin asks, only faltering a little.</p>
<p>Eliot's playful smirk returns as he catches Quentin's eye. "A party favour, of sorts. You'll see when we get to stop number two. But before that—" He stops suddenly, pulling open the door of a shop Quentin doesn't have time to catch the name of before Eliot guides him inside with a hand on the small of his back. "We have to complete what is arguably the most important part of the quest."</p>
<p>Excitement sends a tingling trill up Quentin's spine - or maybe it's Eliot's hand that does it, even as brief as the touch is. Either way, he whirls around to stare eagerly up at him. "What is it?" </p>
<p>"Giving Penny his wardrobe back," Eliot says with a solemn expression. "It's finally time."</p>
<p>After a long moment of blank confusion, Quentin finally notices their surroundings and realizes he's been led into a clothing store. Eliot only manages to hold his straight face for another few seconds before grinning, clearly very pleased with himself. It is kind of funny, Quentin has to admit, but all the same there's a sudden uncomfortable worry that grows in him as he glances around.</p>
<p>"Okay," he says slowly, "but I— I haven't even <i>looked</i> at my bank account in—"</p>
<p>"Oh, you're not paying for this," Eliot says, like it's obvious. "Margo has a credit card for emergencies, and we agreed that this definitely counts. I mean, Penny only has about four shirts without a deep v-neck, and you're borrowing all of them." </p>
<p>Quentin isn't sure what to say to that. Some part of him, a weird mix of pride and shame, wants to protest the handout, but another part is already feeling a little wistful for his closet at the cabin - his worn-out tees and scuffed jeans and familiar layers and <i>christ</i>, what he'd give to wrap up in a hoodie instead of one of the thin cardigans Penny seems so partial to - and before he can really lean either way, Eliot nudges him forward with a smile. He also vows to get Margo to Charm him into complacency if he so much as looks at a price tag, and while Quentin thinks they're probably too far away to hear each other through the bond, let alone for that alpha ability to work, he sure isn't going to risk it. </p>
<p>The boutique is a sight fancier and more colour-coded than any store he's been to in the past— however long it's been since he actually needed a new pair of jeans, but not intimidatingly so. Eliot certainly hasn't taken him to wherever he shops for himself, which is kind of a relief - Eliot's usual prim and put-togetherness, while nice, is not especially close to anything Quentin can see himself being comfortable in. Instead, the selection here is a good deal more plain, softer and less patterned, and on the whole pretty approachable. But that doesn't mean Quentin has any idea what he's doing. </p>
<p>Luckily, it only takes a few minutes of stilted wandering along the first rack, occasionally reaching out to touch a sleeve or soft-looking hem, before Eliot seems to run out of patience and takes charge of the situation. He leads Quentin on a full lap of the store, pausing periodically to drape something over his arm or to press a hanger against Quentin's shoulder and give the shirt or sweater in question a thoughtful look. Quentin is content to trust his judgement and follows him through the racks, every so often nodding or shaking his head when Eliot holds something up for his opinion.</p>
<p>It ends up looking like a lot when all the hangers are crowded together on the hooks in the fitting room, but Eliot seems almost excited as he ushers Quentin inside and shuts the door.</p>
<p>"Do you want me to, like, show you things?" Quentin asks hesitantly. "Because that might take a while."</p>
<p>"Not if you don't want to," Eliot hums from the other side of the door. "This is supposed to be more for you than for me."</p>
<p>"Right." Quentin glances at the hangers again, and spots something dark with a hood at the back of one clutch. The ensuing surge of yearning he's hit with finally makes him start going through it all.</p>
<p>Eliot seems to have guessed his preferences fairly easily, if the amount of simple collared shirts and plain neutral colours in the selection is anything to go by. The thought is both relieving and sort of embarrassing— or whatever strange feeling it is that makes the back of Quentin's neck feel warm. Maybe it's just the fitting room lights beating down on him, or the fact that it's too close to summer to be trying on sweaters. Quentin puts a soft grey wool one off to the side anyway.</p>
<p>He's not sure if Eliot guessed on his sizes too, or asked Julia about it, or what, but most of the clothes fit him fairly well. In fact, the jeans he watched Eliot spend several minutes picking out might fit better than his old ones ever did. Some of the pieces are less of a match comfort-wise - he sticks more to the soft linens and flannels than the slim, dressy button downs, and feels a small wave of relief when he discovers several plain t-shirts hidden behind a pair of stiff-looking slacks that he bypasses entirely. Even the underwear he hadn't noticed Eliot adding to the pile looks a little more... form-fitting than what Quentin probably would have chosen himself. But he's not about to stick his head out and ask Eliot to find him something different.</p>
<p>"So, um," he says loudly, just in case Eliot can somehow hear what garment he's looking at, "did you and Margo really, like, discuss this?"</p>
<p>"What, taking you shopping? Of course," Eliot says, a smirk in his voice. "She wanted to come along herself, but I talked her out of it, for your sake. She'd be right in there with you, lending a hand."</p>
<p>Quentin flushes at the thought, very nearly losing his balance as he steps into another pair of jeans. "I appreciate it. Margo is— I mean, she's great, she's just kind of…"</p>
<p>"You can say 'scary'. She'll love that."</p>
<p>"Intimidating," Quentin decides on instead. "I mean, you're all kind of— well, not Josh, he's pretty mild. But I don't ever want to piss Alice off, let alone Kady. And Penny, like, already hates me, so—"</p>
<p>Eliot cuts him off with a laugh. "He doesn't <i>hate</i> you."</p>
<p>"Are you sure?" Quentin scoffs, giving the shirt in his hands a dull glare. "He doesn't seem especially stoked about me being around. He practically seethes whenever I enter a room."</p>
<p>"Only a little," Eliot says, probably meaning to sound reassuring, but his snickering doesn't help. "He's just sensitive."</p>
<p>"Sensitive," Quentin repeats. "Are we talking about the same person?"</p>
<p>He hears Eliot sigh on the other side of the door. "Look, I know he doesn't give off the tenderest of vibes," he says, "but Penny is… He's more receptive than the rest of us. You don't need to have a fully-formed thought primed and ready to send, he can pick up what's on the surface without much effort."</p>
<p>"Oh." Quentin pauses with his arms halfway into another shirt. "So he looks annoyed with me all the time because I'm being annoying?"</p>
<p>"Penny thinks everyone is annoying," Eliot says dryly. "He's probably more hung up on not having the attic to himself anymore. He'll get over it eventually, he just takes a while to warm up. Giving him his closet back after this will be a start."</p>
<p>Quentin isn't so sure. He frowns at himself in the mirror for a moment before pulling the shirt off with a huff. "If you say so."</p>
<p>"He's not the only one benefitting, either," Eliot points out. "I'm sure you're sick of smelling like him all the time."</p>
<p>"I guess," Quentin sighs, pawing through the hangers still left on the hook. "To be honest, I kind of stopped noticing."</p>
<p>Eliot is quiet for a second. "Okay, well, I haven't. It's already better, though. You'll see." And then, after another few seconds, a little softer - "It's supposed to be kind of cathartic, you know. A change of scenery, getting some things of your own. Making Penny's life easier is just a convenient side effect."</p>
<p>Warmth flutters through Quentin's chest as he glances shyly at the door, trying to stumble his way through a thank-you— but he pauses when he notices Eliot's hand above the door, fingers tapping against the frame. "Here, toss me whatever you were wearing earlier."</p>
<p>Quentin does so without thinking, and his brain only catches up once the leg of Penny's jeans is pulled out of sight. "Wait, why?"</p>
<p>"To prove my point," Eliot says simply. "Are you almost done?"</p>
<p>"Uh—" Quentin glances around, taking stock of his mess. There are still some things he hasn't tried on yet, but he's getting tired anyway, and the small room really is overwarm now. "Yeah, um, hold on."</p>
<p>He checks the sizes of everything still on hangers, keeps the things he knows will fit and folds the rest as nicely as he can on top of his rejects pile in the corner. Without his borrowed outfit to change back into, he decides to just throw on the closest flannel and retrieve the best-fitting pair of jeans from the floor, then fumbles the door open. He welcomes the immediate rush of cool air and the sight of Eliot still waiting for him - but the long once-over he gives Quentin when he looks up makes him feel like he's right back under the warm lights.</p>
<p>"See?" Eliot says approvingly. He reaches out to adjust Quentin's shirt collar, thumb brushing the side of his neck. "Much better."</p>
<p>With the same sort of practised ease that he picked everything out, Eliot gathers up Quentin's chosen items to take over to the front counter, with Quentin following behind and avoiding eye contact with the waiting cashier. Eliot lets him stay just long enough to scan the things he's wearing and then shoos him off to wait by the door, refusing to let him see the total price.</p>
<p>Quentin is so focused on squinting across the store to decipher the tiny pixelated numbers that he almost doesn't notice the growing sense of presence in the back of his mind, until he catches himself glancing around without really knowing what he's searching for.</p>
<p>"Oh, right," Eliot says, appearing at his side and handing over one of two loaded shopping bags. "I might've forgotten to mention, we're picking up some new party members for the last leg of the quest."</p>
<p>He pushes the door open before Quentin can ask what he means, but he ends up not needing to. One more second of focus and Julia's presence hits him all at once - very nearly at the same time that she literally runs into him, catching him with a surprised laugh on his first step back onto the sidewalk. Kady is there too, a few paces behind, and from the shopping bags in her hand Quentin assumes Julia has just had the same treatment as him.</p>
<p>Eliot doesn't give them much time to loiter, quickly teaming up with Kady to usher the other two in the direction of their final destination, the mysterious stop number two that Julia seems to know as little about as Quentin does. Kady had apparently disclosed even less than Eliot had, and Eliot only gives annoyingly vague answers to their wheedling. He does pause to explain Haven's full moon event to Julia, falling into step beside her, which puts Quentin beside Kady instead.</p>
<p>Maybe it was a little unfair to call her intimidating, since he hasn't actually seen much of her, but he's definitely still standing by the assessment for now. Kady seems to like Julia at least, and Julia definitely likes her if she's readily spending so much time with her doing... whatever it is they do with the local coven. Quentin kind of expected to be jealous about all the witch stuff, but the feeling never really set in, and now he's more glad that Julia has something for herself.</p>
<p>It's been nice to see her happy and excited about learning new things without having to pretend to be so serious all the time. He thinks of the awed tone she had while telling him about a spell she watched the casting of, the runes he saw doodled on a notebook left on her bed. There was part of him that worried, when Kady first started spiriting her away, that he would end up on the outside of things again - Julia fitting right in and him... not doing that. But that hadn't happened either. Sure, he wouldn't really call any of the others his close personal friends at this point, but... the idea doesn't seem too far out of reach.</p>
<p>Well, with Penny, maybe it does. But Eliot, for example, is much easier to imagine being close with. Especially when he glances back at Quentin with a smile.</p>
<p>"You said the same thing," he muses, and Quentin abruptly becomes aware that he's missed several minutes of conversation.</p>
<p>"I— what? What did I say?"</p>
<p>"That there's something noble about partying all night," Eliot snickers, turning back to Julia. "We should let you two do Haven's PR."</p>
<p>"Do the guests really keep each other in check?" Julia asks. "I mean, on the full moon, things must get a little... intense."</p>
<p>"We do have a couple ground rules," Kady puts in. "'No fighting' is the main one. Also, 'no wolfing out in the middle of the bar'."</p>
<p>Quentin can't help laughing at the mental image, but realizes quickly that she's serious. "Wait, does that actually happen?"</p>
<p>"Not so much anymore," Kady says with a shrug. "Most of the alphas are pretty level headed, or know by now that if they try anything, Margo will make them roll over in about ten seconds flat." Eliot nods approvingly at that. "And we don't have any born wolves coming to spend the moon with us, so no, you probably don't have to worry about anybody shifting tonight."</p>
<p>"Born wolves can shift too?" Quentin asks, excitement spiking through him. "I thought only alphas could—"</p>
<p>"For born wolves it doesn't matter," Julia explains, not quite impatiently, but Quentin thinks he catches the edge of an eye-roll and feels a hot flush of shame. "All of them can shift forms, whether they're an alpha or not. It's an inherited trait."</p>
<p>"Along with bloodline snobbery," Kady adds.</p>
<p>Quentin frowns, remembering Alice saying something similar. "Isn't that kind of… I don't know, generalizing?" he asks, half-mumbling through embarrassment. "I mean, there's no way every single one of them thinks like that. Right?"</p>
<p>"Of course not," Eliot says, but his voice is low and almost sneering. "Only the vast majority. Insular families, and all that."</p>
<p>"Not much chance for anything different, when you're raised in it," Kady explains, apparently mistaking Quentin's wincing for curiosity. "But most of those packs wouldn't be caught dead in the city. They don't even go to the Lunar Council."</p>
<p>"Really?" Julia turns back, looking genuinely baffled. "Why?"</p>
<p>Kady shrugs again, waving her free hand. "A lot of reasons. Purebred bullshit is one, but aside from that, I think most of those really old wolf lineages would rather just keep to themselves - which I, for one, am just fine with," she huffs. "Especially during the full moon."</p>
<p>Julia slows down to walk beside Kady, asking something else about Haven that Quentin doesn't pay much attention to. Instead he falls in behind them, willing the last of the embarrassed redness off his face. He doesn't notice Eliot stepping around the others to join him until their shoulders bump together, and when he looks up, whatever expression that had made Eliot's voice so hard has been smoothed over.</p>
<p>"Kind of derailed the PR discussion, unfortunately," he murmurs, leaning close like he doesn't want the girls to hear.</p>
<p>Quentin can't help huffing a laugh. "It's fine," he sighs. "I mean, I didn't know any of this stuff. Corrigan never knew any born wolves, or if he did, we never met them."</p>
<p>"Not surprising," Eliot hums. "They're not the most… social. As you may have heard."</p>
<p>"Apparently," Quentin says wryly. "Still… I kind of wonder what <i>they</i> do for the full moon." Wolves with such a focus on pack history must have some sort of ritual, some long-standing tradition... "Probably something a lot more interesting than running around in the woods."</p>
<p>Eliot snorts. "I think you'd be surprised. I told you before, most packs spend the night on a hunt, same as yours did."</p>
<p>"Okay, but even that," Quentin insists. "A whole pack of wolves— I mean, <i>actual</i> wolves, shifted, with the full moon overhead? That must be—"</p>
<p>"Wild," Eliot finishes for him, something quietly wistful in his tone. "Yeah. There's nothing like it."</p>
<p>He looks away after a second, and Quentin wants to ask if maybe Haven <i>has</i> seen some born wolf visitors before— but Julia's voice breaks in between them. "Oh, this is it?"</p>
<p>Quentin looks around at where they've ended up, trying to gather his bearings while Kady leads them closer to some sort of warehouse. It looks abandoned, the front doors wide open, and inside he can see empty shelves, stray boxes strewn around, a set of rusty stairs and other junk debris.</p>
<p>"We've been here before," Julia says, shooting a playful glare at Kady. "Why didn't you tell me this was the place?"</p>
<p>Kady holds up a defensive hand. "Hey, it's your guys' quest, not mine."</p>
<p>"Watch your step," Eliot says, suddenly close again, and leads Quentin by the shoulder up the last bit of paved driveway. There doesn't seem to be anything around to trip over, but he does spot some sort of spray-painted tag on the ground in front of the doors. Kady and Julia step right over it, and Eliot directs him to do the same.</p>
<p>It's like walking through an invisible barrier. As soon as Quentin's foot touches the symbol, the warehouse looks entirely different - suddenly there are lights on and people all around, and the boxes he had seen are actually stacked neatly, the shelves full of jars and books and crates. There's also a whole truck that he somehow missed, and further in against the wall a set of large iron tanks that look like— </p>
<p>"Are those cauldrons?" he asks, pausing mid-step to stare at them.</p>
<p>"Probably," Julia says mildly, following his gaze. "Huh. They weren't here last time, though."</p>
<p>"Okay," Quentin says slowly. "Great. And where is 'here'?"</p>
<p>Julia gives him an amused look, clearly pleased with his amazement. "It's like the coven headquarters. Or one of them, at least. Obfuscating runes keep it all hidden." She points out the painted symbol they'd walked over. "It got me the first time, too."</p>
<p>Before Quentin can even begin to try deciphering the rune, Julia hooks her arm around his and leads him further inside. "Kady's brought me here a few times," she explains. "This space down here is for business. Upstairs is where they do the spellcasting."</p>
<p>Quentin nods along, glancing over at the stairs, which are not as rusty as they once looked, and then more cautiously around the whole room. He has an uncomfortable sense that he's being watched, but none of the others milling around - the <i>witches</i>, he reminds himself - seem to be looking in their direction. It's kind of hard not to think about the centuries-long supernatural feud that's apparently going on. "Are we, like, allowed to be here?" he whispers to Julia.</p>
<p>"It's fine," Julia says with a scoff. "We're with Kady."</p>
<p>Kady, however, has ventured further into the warehouse by herself, and Julia doesn't seem keen to follow her that far. Luckily, they don't have to hover in the corner for too long before Eliot calls them over, ushering them to join him beside a large crate with the lid pulled open.</p>
<p>"Our party favours," he announces, gesturing with a flourish once Quentin and Julia are close enough to peer inside. It's packed with glass bottles, all filled with a strange reddish-purple liquid. Each bottle has a label bearing a set of symbols - runes, Quentin supposes, although they don't look anything like the one outside the warehouse.</p>
<p>"I know some of these," Julia hums, leaning in for a closer look, and Quentin crouches next to her. "That one is the moon, and beside that is the wolf. Or werewolf, when they're written together like that. Um, under that is…" She tilts her head, brow furrowed. "Something to do with enchantment, I think. And the other one is, uh, grain. Like wheat."</p>
<p>Quentin looks up at Eliot. "So it's... magic alcohol?"</p>
<p>"Witches' Brew," Eliot says proudly, grinning. "Unfortunately the name was decided on before we realized it gave Josh free reign to call them 'brewskis'. But the important part is that it actually has an effect on werewolves."</p>
<p>"Really?" Quentin glances back down at the bottles, eyebrows raised. "How does that work?"</p>
<p>"Whatever spell it's been concocted with reacts with your heightened senses under the full moon," Eliot explains, waving a hand. "The result is— well, not drunkenness, exactly, but it blurs the edges a little. Helps you unwind. It feels good," he summarizes, when Julia starts to look skeptical. "Trust me, I wouldn't put so much time and effort into curating a drink menu for it to go to waste."</p>
<p>"Nice pitch," Kady snorts as she comes back to join them, thumbing over her shoulder when Eliot looks up. "Marina's waiting for you."</p>
<p>Eliot nods and straightens his vest before slipping away, and Quentin watches him go until Julia tugs at his arm to get him to stand up.</p>
<p>"Does this stuff really work?" she asks, as Kady slides the crate's lid back into place.</p>
<p>"As far as I know, it does," Kady answers, dusting her hands off. "I don't usually partake, I'd rather just feel the moon unmuted. But Eliot and Margo swear by it." She pauses a moment, smirking. "I mean, when they aren't spending the night focused on more, you know, carnal desires."</p>
<p>Julia makes a face. "Do I want to know?"</p>
<p>"Nothing crazy," Kady laughs, nudging Julia's shoulder teasingly. "They just have a thing for, like, picking out random wolves to fuck around with for the night. Or sometimes the same one. They make kind of a game of it." She shrugs, still smirking. "It's just a different way to unwind, I guess."</p>
<p>"I guess," Quentin agrees weakly. It's really not hard to imagine - Margo and Eliot somehow do this thing where they make him feel <i>interesting</i>, like what he's saying is important, and they probably have the same effect on other people. He's sure it wouldn't take much to turn that kind of attention into something else, something more like— <i>seduction</i>, or whatever. Especially with how easily the two of them hand out touches, and— and he has to literally shake his head to get his thoughts back on track, after that.</p>
<p>They follow Eliot over to a sharp-eyed witch with a long ponytail and tattoos running up her crossed forearms - Marina, apparently. "I don't suppose Zelda is around," Eliot is saying, when they join him.</p>
<p>"It's her day off," the witch says smoothly, and holds one hand out. "You have Margo's payment?"</p>
<p>Eliot plucks the tiny vial out of his pocket with a sigh, shaking it a little before placing it in Marina's waiting palm. "Alpha claw, as requested."</p>
<p>"Lovely." Marina lifts it up to the light, frowning. "Why is it— is that nail polish?"</p>
<p>"Non-toxic," Eliot assures her. "Margo made sure."</p>
<p>Marina rolls her eyes, but keeps the vial in her hand while she recrosses her arms. "Alright, your order's ready to go." As if on cue, two other witches start to load the crate of bottles onto the waiting truck. Quentin wonders if they have some sort of telepathy too, or if Marina just has everyone attuned to her whims.</p>
<p>"Always a pleasure," Eliot says with a grin, bowing his head. "Same time next month?"</p>
<p>"You know our rate," Marina says sweetly, and immediately turns to head up the stairs.</p>
<p>Eliot's expression flattens as soon as she disappears. "Alright, that's enough diplomacy for one day," he decides, turning around abruptly. Quentin and Julia both stifle laughter as they follow him and Kady back the way they came.</p>
<p>They stay just long enough to see the truck off to Haven, then start to head back themselves, with Quentin determined to pay attention to the route they take this time. Still, it doesn't take long for him to get distracted by Julia recounting her and Kady's morning excursion, and when he gets his focus back, he's already missed several blocks and has no idea where the coven's warehouse is, let alone what direction Haven is in.</p>
<p>Eliot seems to notice his somewhat annoyed glancing around, though, and is nice enough not to mention it while he casually points out a few landmarks. It honestly doesn't end up helping much, but it's nice to have Eliot beside him the whole way back, and Quentin doesn't feel too bad when Julia is the one to lead the way around the final corner that brings them back to Haven's front doors.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey! i'm gonna say this 36,000 more times but thanks so much for being so excited about this fic! we're having such a good time reading everyone's comments. what a dang delight. ALSO, check out <a href="https://dressrosaa.tumblr.com/post/634246490918944768/inspired-by-a-sweet-lil-tender-scene-in-chapter-2">this INCREDIble fanart</a> from the end of chapter 2 by J!!!! we fully lost our minds abt this on the weekend, i cannot get over it, it's so good. the idea that werewolfs.doc is just out there being perceived by people..... wack......</p>
<p>anyway, in this chapter, it's the night of the full moon! this will be fine!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Margo seems satisfied with Quentin's new wardrobe, high-fiving Eliot for his hard work and giving Quentin an approving sort of hair-tug. She also supervises while Quentin gives Penny his clothes back - which is a little awkward, considering how rumpled some of the shirts are, but Penny doesn't really say much about it either way. Quentin figures that's probably as good as it's going to get.</p>
<p>Even after spending so much of the day out and about, he doesn't really feel as… drained, as he expected to. It's nice, if a little strange, to have his mood seem like it's really going to last. He even feels the same familiar impatience for nightfall as he used to with his other pack, the same hum of anticipation during the last few hours before the full moon rises. But as the sun starts to set and Haven opens its doors, the chatter of strangers echoing up through the stairwell sends an equally familiar roll of anxiety through Quentin's gut. </p>
<p>By the time the rest of the pack has gone down to the bar, he finds himself hovering once more at the top of the stairs. He tells himself he's waiting for Margo to emerge from the loft, a weak guise which he hopes will give him enough time to wrestle himself back into some semblance of a good mood - but it doesn't really work out, and the sound of Margo's heels clacking on the stairs seems to come much too soon.</p>
<p>She smiles as she comes over to join him, wearing a short black dress and pulling her hair up into a high ponytail. "If I knew you were still up here, I would've asked you to do my zipper," she says with a smirk. Quentin returns it weakly, but Margo seems to catch onto his anxiety anyway. "Hey, you okay?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," he sighs, making himself nod. "Just. Nervous, I think."</p>
<p>Margo frowns. "About what? Tonight's guestlist?"</p>
<p>Shrugging, Quentin tugs his sleeves down over his clammy palms. "Josh said it would all be fine by the full moon, but I just... I don't want anyone to be weird about the— the stray thing." He forces the words out quickly, suddenly very aware that he hasn't brought this up with anyone since his talk with Alice. Saying it out loud makes him feel even more uneasy. He resists the urge to turn and run for the attic, instead dragging his eyes up to meet Margo's determined stare.</p>
<p>"I told you before, I don't care about that," she says firmly. "It's all bullshit. You know that, right?"</p>
<p>Quentin's mouth twists guiltily, which is probably not the confident answer Margo is looking for. "I-I guess, yeah."</p>
<p>"You smell fine," Margo assures him, stepping closer to wrap her arm around his. "If anyone gives you a problem, call me, alright?" She waits until he nods before starting down the stairs, tugging him along with her. Quentin has to admit that her assertion does make him feel a little better, and he makes a real attempt to relax as Margo leads him down to the bar. </p>
<p>It's actually not so bad, once they step out into it, even though it's noisier and more crowded than it was a week ago. It's also definitely impossible to miss the fact that he's surrounded by wolves, this time. Margo keeps their arms linked and shepherds him around a bit, not even greeting anyone they pass, just walking easily through the press of the party like she owns the place - which she does, so Quentin supposes it's not all that shocking that the crowd seems to part before her. He does his best to look less nervous than he feels and lets her tug him along without complaint.</p>
<p>She takes him up to the bar counter, which is busy, but not so crowded that Quentin can't see Eliot behind it. He has his sleeves rolled up and is doing some fancy flourish with a cocktail shaker, and he looks so completely in his element that Quentin isn't surprised to see a few other wolves watching him work. Kady's words about <i>carnal desires</i> float into his mind suddenly, and he quickly looks away to clear it.</p>
<p>A second later, Margo returns - he hadn't even noticed her slip away - and presses a glass into his hand, full of clinking ice cubes and a plum-coloured liquid he recognizes as Witches' Brew. "We've got a private table around the back," she shouts in his ear, then shoos him away from the counter. Quentin is happy enough to escape the fray, and heads past the stairway and around the side of the bar, keeping his drink carefully aloft as he dodges between unfamiliar wolves.</p>
<p>Behind the centerpiece of the bar counter, there's a whole half of the room - or third, maybe - that Quentin somehow missed. It's narrower than the front of the bar that faces the street and there aren't as many tables, but the windows here show the darkened courtyard, and there's a set of double doors leading out into it. Quentin spots the right table easily enough, tucked in at the far end. He's not supremely enthused to see Penny sitting there, but at least Julia is there beside him.</p>
<p>He slips into the booth across from them, already feeling less tense. "Having fun yet?" he asks, tapping his glass against Julia's water-filled one before setting it down. </p>
<p>Penny gives a non-committal sort of grunt without looking up from his own drink, but Julia turns to him with a weak smile. "More or less."</p>
<p>She looks sort of pale, now that Quentin is up close, and he frowns when she lifts her cold water glass to press against her forehead. "Jules? You alright?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, just a weird headache," she sighs, rubbing at the condensation. "It might just be because there's so many people around. Sensory overload, or something. I haven't really been down here much."</p>
<p>"Neither have I," Quentin admits, glancing around at some of the other tables. It definitely hadn't been this full last time, although that was also on an afternoon in the middle of the week, and without the full moon waiting in the sky.</p>
<p>When he turns back around, Penny is giving Julia a confused look - or maybe it's closer to concern, actually, or something else Quentin can't quite read. "It'll get less crowded in here when we open the courtyard," he says, nodding at the window casing them in. "Josh is supposed to be getting it ready."</p>
<p>Julia puts her glass down, smiling wryly at him. "What, it's not a group project this time?"</p>
<p>To Quentin's surprise, Penny huffs a laugh. "Would you really rather be out there raking leaves right now?" he asks, shaking his head. He doesn't look nearly so intimidating with a grin on his face, and the difference is so staggering that Quentin nearly jumps when it's turned on him. "Don't tell me you're longing to hold a broom again."</p>
<p>"Not exactly," Quentin manages. "Josh has my blessing on that one."</p>
<p>As if on cue, a warm light suddenly flares up through the window as the firepit blazes to life at the edge of the courtyard. The sky outside is fully dark now, and Quentin can just make out the moon shining through the high branches of the tree at the other end. The doors across the room are pushed open and Josh is revealed there, bowing a little as he sweeps a hand towards the yard beyond.</p>
<p>"Moon viewing can now commence, my fine furry friends," he announces. A low cheer rumbles through the bar as chairs are pushed back and seats are slid out of, and soon most of the partygoers have moved outside into the courtyard. The double doors are left open, letting in a soft breeze along with the crackling of the fire.</p>
<p>Quentin turns back to the others, about to suggest getting a breath of fresh air before he notices Julia's pale face gone even paler, her brow pinched and her eyes closed. He reaches out for her, nudging gently through the bond, <i>Jules?</i> But she winces almost as if he'd shouted instead.</p>
<p>"Don't," she says weakly, leaning away and waving him off. "I'm— I'm fine."</p>
<p>Penny's concerned look returns as she grips the edge of the table. "You're really not."</p>
<p>"Are you, like, sick?" Quentin asks, a little frantic. He's halfway out of the booth before he even thinks of where he should be going. "Should we, um— I can get Margo—"</p>
<p>"She's already on her way," Penny says over him without looking away from Julia. It takes Quentin a second to realize he must have called out with the bond instead, and sure enough, Margo comes around the corner a few moments later.</p>
<p>She hands her cocktail glass off to a random wolf she passes by before heading to their table, a mix of worry and irritation on her face - the latter of which fades the closer she gets. "What's wrong?"</p>
<p>"I-I don't know," Quentin stammers out. "She's— she said it was a headache, but—"</p>
<p>"I think," Julia says, still gripping the table's edge, "maybe I need to lie down."</p>
<p>Penny gets up so Margo can slide into the booth next to her and put a hand to her forehead. For a moment Quentin thinks she's taking her temperature, but after her eyes flash red he knows it must be something else. "Ooh, yeah, not great," Margo hisses, taking her hand back with a grimace. "Penny, you wanna take her upstairs?"</p>
<p>"Is she okay?" Quentin frowns as Margo stands up again, letting Penny lean over to usher Julia out of the booth. He puts a careful arm around her waist to lead her around the side of the bar. Quentin sort of wants to follow them, but he doesn't want to crowd Julia, or make her flinch again. He looks back up at Margo instead. "What did you— what was that?"</p>
<p>"Just took a glance into how she's feeling," Margo says, shaking her hand out absently. "Alpha perks. Faster than hitting up WebMD." </p>
<p>"So how <i>is</i> she feeling?" Quentin asks, watching Penny and Julia disappear around the corner. "Other than, like. Bad."</p>
<p>Margo leans her hip against the table, sighing as she searches for the words. "You remember how you felt your first night here, right? Before we brought you in, when all you had was the sort of… lack of a bond." Quentin nods, something in his stomach twisting. "And now there's this," she goes on, gesturing between them. "Our pack bond is filling that space. But for Julia, I guess it's not an exact fit just yet."</p>
<p>It sounds rather uncomfortably close to what Quentin has sometimes felt around the edges of the bond, where it hasn't quite fit flush against his mind, where there's still a tiny bit of room for something else to rattle around in. "But why?" he asks, pushing that thought away. "We've been here for— I mean, not <i>that</i> long, but still…"</p>
<p>"Well, it's not like she's been on the verge of passing out this whole time," Margo says with a shrug. "I think it flared up because of the moon. Everything's running on high tonight, especially bonds - even ones that aren't connected to anything anymore, apparently." She glances away toward the stairs. "And being pulled in two directions like that probably doesn't feel too great even when the full moon <i>isn't</i> turning it up to eleven."</p>
<p>"Right." Quentin follows her gaze, swallowing past a wave of unease. "So she can still feel our— the other bond."</p>
<p>"What's left of it, yeah."</p>
<p>Quentin remembers grasping at fragments, sharp and glinting just out of reach - and how Julia had flinched away from him. His stomach twists again. Had he made her feel worse?</p>
<p>"The good news is that after tonight, it'll be washed out permanently," Margo continues, crossing her arms. "The moon is going to flex our bond too, and by the time the sun rises, all those uneven edges will be filled in." She pauses, frowning. "The bad news is that until then, it's going to suck. But Julia's tough. She'll be alright."</p>
<p>She moves to step away from the table, but turns around abruptly, fixing Quentin with a suspicious look. "<i>You're</i> not feeling sick, are you?"</p>
<p>"What— me? No," he says quickly. He's a little queasy with worry, maybe, but now that he knows Julia is resting, it should be fine. "I'm okay, I'm— I'm good."</p>
<p>Margo gives him one last hard squint before her expression smooths out into a smile. "Let’s keep it that way, alright?" She flicks his hair out of his face then turns and flounces off toward the doors. "Finish your drink," she calls over her shoulder, and then with a swish of her ponytail, she's gone.</p>
<p>Now alone at the table, Quentin spends a few minutes staring at the empty side of the booth before someone walks by, and a spike of self-consciousness hurries him out of his seat. He doesn't really know where else to go, at first - he considers following Margo outside, or maybe trying to find Alice or Josh, but when he picks up his glass, he thinks of Eliot.</p>
<p>He's probably still behind the bar, serving drinks and showing off. Quentin can't help smiling at the thought, and suddenly all he wants to do is go see him. The counter should be less crowded now, and Quentin can sit in the same corner as last time, and when Eliot comes over he'll actually give the Witches' Brew a try and tell him what he thinks. Maybe he can ask Eliot to make him something else, something fancy, with a lot of flourishes...</p>
<p>Quentin rounds the corner of the bar feeling almost bold, and is pleased to find the counter really is much less packed. Eliot is still there too, with his sleeves rolled up and a smirk on his face - but he's talking to someone, tilting his head and speaking softly to a handsome blonde wolf who's leaning across the counter, grinning at him, their faces close— <i>A different way to unwind, I guess—</i></p>
<p>Something cold floods through Quentin even as a flush creeps up his neck, and he very nearly stumbles into someone else in his rush to back away. Hoping the stranger's grumbling doesn't catch Eliot's attention, he hurries back the way he came, not wanting Eliot to see him looking - or worse, call him over, and then Quentin will have to try and make small talk with whoever Eliot has— <i>picked out</i>, or whatever. The easiest escape is out through the doors to the courtyard, and Quentin doesn't hesitate.</p>
<p>The full moon draws his eyes up almost automatically, blindingly bright for a split second before a wave of dizziness drives everything else out of Quentin's mind. He staggers a couple steps and catches himself on the balcony stairs, his skull pulsing with a headache he hadn't noticed setting in - or maybe it had only started once he stepped out into the moonlight, he can't remember, it just <i>throbs</i>. The presence of so many other wolves, laughing and chattering all around him, and the fire blazing a few yards away, and the moon shining down on all of it—  even his heartbeat in his ears seems uncomfortably loud. He tries to just close his eyes and wait for it to pass like a headrush, but after a full minute he doesn't feel any steadier. Maybe even less so.</p>
<p>This must be what Julia meant about sensory overload, he realizes belatedly, as he stumbles back inside. Or maybe it's what Margo said - the old bond poking sharp through the gaps where the new one hasn't quite managed to fit, reaching into his mind with the threatening emptiness he had almost managed to forget about, back now for what certainly feels like revenge. Either way, it doesn't feel <i>good</i>, and it seems to get worse the longer he's upright.</p>
<p>There aren't nearly so many wolves sitting around the bar as there are in the courtyard now, but the thought of going back to his table still makes Quentin's head twinge. His other option is to follow Penny and Julia upstairs, which doesn't seem like it'll feel much better, but at least he'll end up somewhere quieter. He keeps his head down as he wades through the bar, pausing only to leave his drink on the edge of the counter before it can slip through his shaky fingers.</p>
<p>Climbing the stairs is about as much of an ordeal as he expected, and by the time he reaches the second floor he feels weak and shivery, his ears ringing loud in the quiet. He starts towards the couch by the window, but from there he can see the entire courtyard scene down below - and the moon seems closer than ever, the light shining in making his head pound. He grabs Alice's storybook from where it had been left on the cushions, then retreats to the opposite side of the room, steadying himself against the dining table.</p>
<p>The sturdy, solid edge is a welcome relief, and Quentin shakily lowers himself into a chair at the far end. He has a half-formed idea about sitting here and reading until the sun comes up, but the words swim on the page when he starts to flip through the book, and he has to close it before dizziness overtakes him. Curling up in the chair doesn't make him feel any worse, at least, and neither does closing his eyes, or pressing his palms against his forehead in the vague hope that they'll keep his skull from throbbing. That last part doesn't really work, but he decides to keep trying anyway.</p>
<p>He's not sure how much time passes like that, but eventually he hears footsteps coming up the stairs. Quentin knows it's Eliot before he even registers himself reaching out to check. For a moment he worries that he has the other wolf with him, the one that was smiling at him across the counter— but when he raises his head it's just Eliot alone, grinning as he comes around the table. </p>
<p>"I was wondering where you disappeared to," he drawls, setting a glass down in front of Quentin - a swirl of red-purple. "You left this. It's kind of watered down by now, but maybe that's better for your first time."</p>
<p>"Oh. Thanks." Quentin tries his best to straighten up without moving his head too much. "Are you still working?"</p>
<p>Eliot shakes his head as he moves to the kitchen. "Josh is manning the bar until closing time, so I am free to relax for the rest of the night. Barring special deliveries," he adds, waving a hand in Quentin's direction. "You owe me a tip, by the way. God, speaking of - you missed another exceptional Todd-ism, and by exceptional I mean he tried to— Q?"</p>
<p>Quentin doesn't realize he's closed his eyes again until he has to open them to blink at Eliot, suddenly much closer to him. "Hm?"</p>
<p>Eliot's brow is furrowed, and he raises a hand to Quentin's forehead - Quentin almost expects his eyes to flash red like Margo's, but of course they stay hazel, and worried. At least the touch doesn't make his head hurt. When his hand slips away, Eliot frowns and pulls out the chair next to Quentin's. "You're really pale. Are you alright?"</p>
<p>Nodding nearly makes Quentin dizzy again, but he manages. "It's just a headache."</p>
<p>"Like Julia's headache?" Eliot prompts, unimpressed. "Margo told me about her, but she said you were okay."</p>
<p>"I was," Quentin insists, though it comes out weaker than he means it to. "And then I wasn't."</p>
<p>He feels Eliot's eyes on the side of his face as he curls up a little further, as much as he can while his limbs feel so shaky and sluggish. "Do you want me to go get her?" Eliot asks.</p>
<p>Quentin shakes his head slowly, just enough to make his meaning clear. Margo already had to leave the party to come help with Julia, and he doesn't want to disturb her again, or any of the others having a good night. Temporarily derailing Eliot's relaxation plans has him feeling guilty enough.</p>
<p>He thinks briefly of the wolf from the bar again, and how Eliot had leaned in close to talk to him— but now Eliot is up here instead, sitting beside Quentin, watching him carefully. Quentin is sure he'd feel something about that if his entire skull wasn't aching. He closes his eyes and leans his arms on the table, propping his head up with one hand across his forehead.</p>
<p>"What happened to make you start feeling like this?" Eliot asks, gently sliding his hand across Quentin's shoulders - it doesn't quite hurt, but Quentin has to hold back a shiver anyway. "You were fine when you first came downstairs."</p>
<p>Quentin gives his head another tiny shake. "Not sure. I went out to look at the moon, and everything just— got loud, all of a sudden." It's almost hard to think about, like the moon is still blinding him through the memory. "Overstimulation, I guess. Just… too much, all at once."</p>
<p>"Oh." Eliot takes his hand back somewhat gingerly. "Am I— is this too much?"</p>
<p>Doing his best to ignore the near-jolt the loss of contact gives him, Quentin opens his eyes and squints across the narrow space between their chairs. "I don't think so," he mumbles after a moment. He can feel Eliot's presence very clearly, even when he wasn't looking, but it's somehow separate from the headache. Actually, focusing on him instead makes the pounding in his temples recede a little. "If anything you're, like, distracting me from how shitty I feel."</p>
<p>"Better than nothing, I guess," Eliot sighs, a little wry, and leans his elbow on the table to mirror Quentin. "How long have you been up here by yourself?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. I was more focused on trying to stay upright." Another wave of vague dizziness laps at him. Quentin swallows past it. "This, uh. Really sucks."</p>
<p>Eliot gives him a sympathetic look. "Yeah, I'm sure it does."</p>
<p>"Not just <i>this</i>, I mean the— the timing of it." He lifts his head just enough to glance across the room at the moonlight pouring through the window, spreading out over the floor. "I was actually looking forward to this, the full moon and everything. Like, of course, everyone does, right? But…" Swallowing hard again, he tries to look back at Eliot, but ends up dropping his gaze too. "Sometimes the full moon was the only thing that, like. Got me up and out of bed. And made my brain remember how to work. So this just— it sucks that this one… feels like this."</p>
<p>"Well, it's not like you're feeling shitty on purpose," Eliot says after a moment, but Quentin just shrugs, curling up again with his arms crossed over his knees. "Look, it's your first full moon in the city, a radical change of scenery, as well as— basically everything else," he goes on, tilting his head. "No one blames you for having a rough go of it. I certainly did, my first time."</p>
<p>Quentin looks up at that, surprised - he had kind of assumed Eliot had always lived here, in the city. It's hard to imagine him anywhere else. "I was a wreck," Eliot says, half a dry laugh. "Completely out of my mind, wandering around alone."</p>
<p>"Where was Margo?" Quentin asks, frowning, but Eliot shakes his head.</p>
<p>"I didn't know her then. I'd only just left my—" He stops there, cutting himself off with a stricken expression, and then clenching his jaw tight enough to look painful.</p>
<p>There's a few seconds of silence between them, until Quentin's head throbs again and he makes himself speak up to fill the quiet. "Left what?"</p>
<p>Eliot's gaze flits over to him, wary at first, but the curious stare Quentin gives back seems to convince him of something. He unwinds, just slightly, the rigid line of his shoulders loosening. "My pack," he says eventually. "In Indiana. I was... born there."</p>
<p>Even through the headache, Quentin can feel how carefully he picks the words. "You mean you're not…" He trails off when Eliot's eyes drop. "You weren't turned, you were—"</p>
<p>"I was born into the pack," Eliot finishes quietly. Then he takes a breath and seems to inflate again, sitting up with the casual poise he started with, all wariness apparently forgotten. "A very old pack, with an extremely long and detailed lineage," he says on a sigh, waving an uncaring hand. "Legends about our ancestral sires were practically drilled into us, the only education needed for the pups too small to go hunting. But eventually you have to grow up and contribute to the pack."</p>
<p>He doesn't look at Quentin, but lifts his abandoned drink and swirls the remaining ice around inside. "My father was the alpha," he says, a little slower. "His word was law. Life was about the pack, and nothing else was supposed to matter. If you dared, as I did, to wonder what else was out there, to lose focus... you would fall behind the others." Condensation drips down the side of the glass and onto the table. "And if you fell behind, there was punishment."</p>
<p>Quentin glances up in alarm, but Eliot seems mesmerized by the tiny whirlpool he's made, staring into the glass with his brow furrowed. "It was almost worse if you didn't fight back, if you rolled over too easy, because that was, you know. Shameful. An affront to your lineage." His lips quirk for a moment, a weak attempt at a smile. "So, there I was, the youngest in the alpha's direct line, a disgrace to the family pedigree, and no amount of— teeth or claws or fists could set me right." He puts the glass down. "So I ran away."</p>
<p>He says it offhandedly, like it barely matters, but something in his voice is still bitter, almost raw. Quentin watches him steadily, trying to decipher the carefully unaffected look on his face. "You got all the way here, from Indiana? By yourself?"</p>
<p>Eliot shrugs. "I inherited a good sense of direction."</p>
<p>"What about your pack bond?" Quentin asks, a little more cautiously. He's heard of alphas granting release from the bond, in rare cases, but somehow he doesn't think Eliot would've bothered asking. "I thought that— with born wolves—"</p>
<p>"It's not unbreakable," Eliot says with a thin smile. "But yes, that was the hard part. I knew that as long as I was still connected, they would be able to find me. Granted, I don't know if they really wanted me back, at that point. But Dad was always a sore loser, and I didn't want to risk it."</p>
<p>"So what did you— how did you break it?"</p>
<p>Eliot's face remains unchanged, his voice detached. "I tore it out."</p>
<p>The thought sends a sharp twinge through Quentin's mind that has nothing to do with his headache. "I-I didn't think that was something you could do alone," he says weakly. "Not without— really hurting yourself."</p>
<p>"It isn't," Eliot says, huffing a humourless laugh. "By the time I got to the city, I was… spiralling, to put it lightly. And then the full moon came up." He glances over at the windows, where the moonlight is still spilling in. "If Margo hadn't found me, I'm not sure what would've happened," he admits, quieter.</p>
<p>Quentin watches as the last bit of tension unwinds from Eliot's shoulders, like the mere thought of Margo sets him more at ease. "So you joined her pack?"</p>
<p>Eliot shakes his head. "She didn't have a pack, when I first met her. We were both alone that night, and we both ended up being the anchor the other needed. We... took each other in, in a way." He turns back to Quentin with a smile. "Anyway, that was our pilot episode, and now we're a beloved family sitcom that's been on the air for years, and no one has the balls to try and cancel us." He picks up Quentin's glass again and raises it in a vague toast before he takes a sip. "To be continued."</p>
<p>Quentin laughs, but it makes his head hurt and turns into a weak shiver partway through. "Wow, um. Thank you," he manages. "For— all of that. For trusting me."</p>
<p>"It's only fair," Eliot says easily. "Just don't tell anyone I'm from the midwest." A second later he seems tuned back in to carefully watching Quentin, searching his face for any sign of pain. "Feeling any better?"</p>
<p>"Sort of," Quentin says, cautiously lowering his feet back to the floor. The full skull-aching feeling has faded enough now that he could probably get up without falling over - if the thought of standing didn't give him a preemptive throbbing headrush. "I mean, it's definitely still... happening, but—" He tries it anyway, and lasts a few seconds before his knees turn watery and he very nearly misses his chair when he collapses back into it.</p>
<p>"Maybe not," Eliot says with a grimace. Or Quentin assumes he does, anyway, but he can't tell with his eyes squeezed shut against the sudden vertigo. He feels Eliot's hand on his forehead again though, and that grounds him more than his deathgrip on the sides of his chair does.</p>
<p>Eventually Eliot hums and takes his hand back, and Quentin squints out to see him leaning over to pick up the storybook he'd left on the table. "Were you reading before I came up?" he asks, smiling a little as he turns it over.</p>
<p>"Uh— trying to." Quentin is pretty sure staring at the page while the words moved around doesn't count. "I couldn't really focus."</p>
<p>"Ah." Eliot starts to leaf through the book almost absent-mindedly. "Do you have a favourite?"</p>
<p>Quentin frowns at him. "A favourite story? Not yet, I haven't actually… finished it." He blinks confusedly as Eliot continues to turn the pages, apparently perusing the selection. "Why?"</p>
<p>Eliot glances up to give him a knowing look, like it's obvious. "Well, if <i>you</i> can't read it..."</p>
<p>"You—" Quentin furrows his brow. "You want to... read it to me?"</p>
<p>"Sure, anything to distract a friend," Eliot says, grinning as he crosses one leg over the other and settles back in his chair. "We'll start at the beginning."</p>
<p>"Um," Quentin says hesitantly, and then sees that Eliot is already flipping to the very first page. "Sure, I guess." It's close enough to his original plan for waiting out the night, after all. And while the first story in the book is one that Quentin has read already, it's not like he wasn't already planning to reread the whole thing once he got to the end. So he leans his elbows on the table again, propping his head up to stave off the dizziness, and watches Eliot as he clears his throat theatrically.</p>
<p>"This story," he begins, "is called <i>The First Wolf.</i>"</p>
<p>"<i>Once, a long time ago, there was a pack of wolves, the very first pack that roamed the wild earth. They were careful hunters who ran only at night, and only by the light of the stars. One night, one wolf in the pack saw in the dark sky a star bigger and brighter than the rest. He was curious to see where it would lead him, and followed the star over miles and miles until finally he reached the edge of a lake that he could not cross. The star was there too, just about to dip below the horizon, but the wolf could see it clearly for the first time and realized it wasn’t a star at all. It was the Moon.</i></p>
<p>"<i>The wolf was captivated by her, not only her brightness and beauty, but her power, the very sight of her filling him with strength. He called out to her, howling over the water, and for a moment she paused to listen, just before she disappeared and the sun began to rise. The wolf knew that he would have to wait until the stars came out to see her again, so the next night, the wolf returned to the lake. The Moon was just as alluring as before, but part of her face was shadowed, and when the wolf called to her she didn’t seem to hear. The same thing happened the night after that, her face a little more shadowed, and his call unanswered. This didn’t deter the wolf though, for he knew the Moon had heard him once, and vowed that he would keep calling to her until she heard his voice again.</i></p>
<p>"<i>So it went on. Every night the—</i>"</p>
<p>"Isn't that, like, catcalling?" Quentin asks, wrinkling his nose. "I mean, the moon doesn't really owe this guy anything."</p>
<p>"He can't catcall, he's a wolf," Eliot huffs. "Now hush, you made me lose my place."</p>
<p>Quentin bites his lip to keep from laughing while Eliot makes a show of squinting down at the book. He has the impression it's all for show, actually - he remembers Alice's narration being a bit more flowery, and Eliot doesn't seem to be turning the pages as he goes, more like he's reciting it from memory than actually reading it out. But soon enough he draws Quentin into the story again.</p>
<p>"<i>So it went on. Every night the wolf waited by the lake, and every night the Moon would turn a little further from him. Every night he would call out to her, and every night she would disappear without hearing him. There was even one very long night where the Moon didn’t rise in the sky at all, and the wolf howled to the stars instead. But still he waited.</i></p>
<p>"<i>Finally the night came when the Moon was full once again, just as bright and beautiful as she was the very first time he saw her, when she led him to the lakeside. And this time the Moon heard his howl, and remembered hearing it all those nights ago when it made her pause above the horizon. She was curious about this wolf who had kept such a long vigil, so she shone down on him and turned him into a man, so that he could stand up and explain himself in words. By now, the wolf had been thinking about all he wanted to say to the Moon for many nights, so the words came easily.</i></p>
<p>"<i>He told the Moon how she had drawn him in even when he thought she was a star, how beautiful and devastating she was even when her face was shadowed, how bright she shone even when she was only a sliver in the sky. He told her how he had grown to love her during all his nights of vigil, and how he would have kept waiting even if she had never shown her face again. The Moon, though impressed and endeared by the wolf, knew she could no sooner come down from the sky to be by his side than he could fly up to be at hers. But she still wanted to reward him for his loyalty. She asked him what he wanted - she could make this form permanent so he could walk among men and never have to skulk through the dark again. Or she could turn him back into a wolf and give him the Alpha's mark so that the other wolves in his pack would follow him through any domain. Which would he prefer?</i></p>
<p>"<i>But the wolf shook his head. As long as he could spend his nights here with her like this, he said, he didn’t need anything else. The Moon was so moved by his devotion that she gave him both gifts: the ability to change his own shape. She named him the first Wolf, vowing that his descendants would be blessed with the same. She told him he had a duty to live a full life and provide for his pack with what she had given him, and so he did. But while the Wolf led his pack well and sired many descendants and lived long and happy, he would always return to the lake to see the Moon when her full bright face was shining down. And when the Wolf howled, she would hang in the sky a moment longer just to hear it.</i></p>
<p>"The end," Eliot announces after a pause, startling Quentin out of his lull when he snaps the book shut. "Magic, intrigue, one-sided romance with an unattainable celestial body. A classic."</p>
<p>Quentin manages a hum, readjusting in his chair to sit cross-legged with one hand still holding his head up. He'd nearly managed to forget about the pulsing ache across his brow while Eliot was talking. "Are these stories, like, at all historically accurate?" he asks, rubbing his temple absently. "I mean, did any of that actually happen?"</p>
<p>"Aspects of it, probably," Eliot sighs, turning the book over in his hands, trailing his fingers over the leather. "I don't know how familiar the original author was with nuance. But it's fact that there was, at some point, one or more wolves who must have passed this to the rest of us, whether through genetics or the bite." He glances at Quentin with a smirk. "Can't say if any of them actually tried to fuck the moon, though."</p>
<p>Quentin snorts. "Is there a story in there about that? Not about fucking the moon," he adds, before Eliot can open his mouth. "About the bite, the first turning, or whatever. The whole 'curse of the wolf' thing."</p>
<p>"Hey, nobody likes the ones where it's all a curse," Eliot chides, reaching over to gently swat him with the book. "It's a gift. The moon said so."</p>
<p>"Oh, right, my bad," Quentin snickers, rolling his eyes - or trying to, and then feeling the room tilt a little further than he intended. He folds his arms down and rests his head on them, squinting weakly up at Eliot. "Any other, um, lycanthrope self-care tips?"</p>
<p>Eliot makes a very serious thinking face, crossing his arms on the table as well. "I don't know, floss your teeth? Don't shift without a change of clothes on hand? Obviously that's more of a problem for some than others."</p>
<p>Quentin breathes a quiet laugh as the dizziness fades, but lifting his head again still seems like a lot of work. "Can you really do that?" he asks, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Shift into a wolf, like an alpha?"</p>
<p>He doesn't realize until he's saying it just how thrilling the thought is - but Eliot's playful expression flattens, and he presses his lips together for a moment before answering. "I can, yes," he says slowly, his eyes trailing away from Quentin. "But I don't, anymore."</p>
<p>"Oh." Quentin pauses, ready to backtrack if Eliot takes a breath and changes the subject - but he doesn't, and it only takes a few seconds of silence for curiosity to win out over sheepish restraint. "Why not?"</p>
<p>"It— hurts, for one thing," Eliot says, a little too hesitant to be casual at first, but he quickly finds his stride. "It didn't used to, but when I severed the bond, apparently some other things came out along with it. Like the painless shifting experience." The side of his mouth quirks wryly. "I learned that the hard way."</p>
<p>Quentin frowns at him, but Eliot seems to anticipate his interruption and shakes his head. "Don't get me wrong, it's still— <i>good</i>, more or less. I mean, when you're under the moon like that, you don't care about anything else." He sighs, still looking away. "But it takes... discipline, to have full control over something that wild. And that's not really my strong suit. So I don't do it anymore."</p>
<p>"But you miss it," Quentin says before he can stop himself. He can't help thinking of earlier, how Eliot said <i>There's nothing like it</i>, and how his voice was tinged with something like yearning.</p>
<p>Now, Eliot only shrugs. "It's not like I need it. Margo has enough claws for all of us." He looks back and smiles before Quentin can call him out on the smooth side-step. "It's a pretty small price to pay, all things considered. And hey, at least my dick is still intact."</p>
<p>Quentin blinks at him for a moment, wondering if the headache has messed with his hearing. "Was that... a concern?" he asks haltingly.</p>
<p>Eliot raises his eyebrows in what might actually be genuine surprise. "Oh, did your alpha not have any campfire stories about the reputed bestial eroticism of getting knotted by a born wolf?" He says it with some lofty grandeur, but rolls his eyes right after, apparently oblivious to the somewhat confused wave of heat that flares across Quentin's face. "Granted, those rumours are usually embellished. There's no mid-coitus shifting involved, I can assure you."</p>
<p>"Good to know, I guess?" Quentin manages, a little weakly. He does remember something about, like, <i>wolf biology</i>, from his and Julia’s first cursory Google searches, but he figured out fairly quick that that <i>specific</i> aspect wasn't something he would gain through the bite. </p>
<p>Born wolves are different though, as both Alice and Eliot have already described to him, so maybe having a knot is some sort of inherited trait - but thinking about it at all feels a little invasive, and Quentin's face is already hot enough without adding guilty shame to the mix. Either way, no one in his other pack had much to say about born wolves, their anatomy, or their— rumoured sexual prowess, or whatever, and he can't say it's something he's ever been especially curious about.</p>
<p>Although, some traitorous part of his brain points out, according to Kady, there must be some wolves around here that can vouch for Eliot - wolves who have spent the full moon with him, or Margo, or both. On the other hand, Quentin is pretty sure Eliot wouldn't explain his whole backstory to just anybody, even if he were taking them to bed.</p>
<p>"Isn't that… type of thing sort of a giveaway?" he asks, only half-mumbling into his sleeve. "Like, don't people notice it when you're, you know—"</p>
<p>"What, fucking them?" Eliot suggests with a smirk. "I'd be a little offended if they didn't."</p>
<p>He's blasé about it in a way that Quentin can't imagine himself being about anything, let alone this borderline sex-ed lesson. He turns his reddening face a little further into his crossed arms.</p>
<p>Eliot drops the look a second later, shrugging again. "Whoever's involved is usually more preoccupied with feeling good, on nights like tonight. Most wolves I've hooked up with don't bother asking about it afterwards. Plus, magic alcohol is often part of the equation."</p>
<p>The image of the blonde wolf from the bar rises in Quentin's mind again, but he pushes it away, willing the blush to go with it. "I guess that's how rumours get started," he says, trying for a wry smile.</p>
<p>"There are worse things to be known for," Eliot sighs, then his smirk returns, more playful now. "And I've never had any complaints."</p>
<p>Quentin rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh against his sleeve. There's a bit of a shivery feeling starting up in his stomach, like an urge to squirm, which he takes as a sign that it's time to change the subject. He's too wobbly to be thinking this much about anyone's dick, let alone Eliot's. Christ.</p>
<p>Trying to refocus, he wriggles one arm out to reach for the storybook still resting under Eliot's hand. "I guess there aren't any semi-accurate legends in there about wolves who just, you know, relax and hang out, are there?" he tries. "Like, friendly neighbourhood non-judgemental werewolves?"</p>
<p>"That's not quite the preferred archetype, unfortunately," Eliot laughs, pushing the book across the table towards him, but he pauses with his fingers still tapping the cover. "But... I do know one story that wouldn't be in here." He looks back up at Quentin, eyebrows raised. "If you're interested."</p>
<p>"Really?" Quentin perks up as much as he can with his head still pillowed on his arm, and tucks the other one back under just to be propped up a little higher. "Yeah, what's it about?"</p>
<p>Eliot takes a moment to smirk at his excitement before he answers. "It's sort of a post-credits scene for <i>The First Wolf</i>, actually. Some kind of family legend, I think. I only ever heard the others tell it when I was young." </p>
<p>He doesn't sound as detached as he did when he mentioned his pack before, and Quentin watches his brow furrow for a second before his expression smooths out. He gives Quentin an expectant look, waits for his eager nod, and then clears his throat again, though much less dramatically this time.</p>
<p>"There was one more gift the Moon bestowed on the loyal and vigilant Wolf," Eliot recites, his tone careful and less practiced than before. His eyes drop to the space between them, like he's drawing the words from a deep memory. "She had seen the best of him in his devotion to her, and regretted that there was nothing she could do to return it, not in the way he needed. So, in blessing his descendants with the same abilities she had given the Wolf, she also gave them his devotion to carry within them.</p>
<p>"All the Wolves in his line would feel the same draw he did - not to the Moon, not to anything so cruelly out of reach - but to their Mate. Their True Mate, that would draw them in with an inevitable pull, and shine on them as the Moon had shone on the Wolf."</p>
<p>He doesn't need to announce the ending this time. A faint shiver works its way up Quentin's spine, and he raises his head as soon as Eliot finishes speaking.</p>
<p>"What does that mean, 'shine on them'?" he asks, feeling almost— breathless, weirdly.</p>
<p>Eliot shrugs as he refolds his arms on the table. "Who knows?" he sighs, slipping easily back into his normal drawl. "The story is so old, it's probably diluted from whatever the original meaning was."</p>
<p>Quentin doesn't let his lack of enthusiasm deter him. "Well, true mates— that meaning is pretty clear, at least. And that guy's descendants must mean it's passed down to born wolves." He smiles when Eliot gives him an indulgent look. "Good news for you, I guess."</p>
<p>But Eliot scoffs. "It's just a legend, Quentin."</p>
<p>"Yeah, so?" Quentin laughs. "I mean, sure, it's the same <i>deus ex moon magic</i> as before, but— I don't know, isn't it nice to think there could be someone out there that's, like, meant for you? Inevitably?"</p>
<p>"Not particularly," Eliot says flatly. He looks prepared to leave it at that, but at Quentin's frown he relents with a sigh. "Something about building my current self out of nothing really puts a damper on anything about— destiny, or any predetermined bullshit like that."</p>
<p>That's… fair, Quentin supposes, but it still makes his heart hurt a little. "So you've never thought about your true mate?" he asks. "But what if they're just… out there, waiting?" Eliot's mouth twists reluctantly, and Quentin frowns at him again. "Come on, just humour me."</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, Eliot lets out a long breath. "Alright, for the sake of argument— even if it were real, true mates, fate, whatever else... I don't think I have one."</p>
<p>Quentin lifts his head, bewildered. "What? Why not?"</p>
<p>"Why would I?" Eliot scoffs again. "I basically disowned myself. I figure <i>destiny</i> is another bloodline perk that's now null and void." He meets Quentin's unhappy gaze with a thin, wry smile. "Look, if there really is some poor sod out there waiting to meet me, I guarantee some fuck-up runaway isn't going to be what they want."</p>
<p>He says it like that's all he is, like he didn't just tell the story of how he built himself up from rock bottom. Like they arent one floor above his <i>passion project</i> right now, like the idea of Haven isn't the most awe-inspiring and— <i>kind</i> thing Quentin's ever heard of.</p>
<p>"I don't know," he mumbles, dropping his gaze. "I'd say you're a lot more than that."</p>
<p>Eliot shrugs, looking away. "Well, in my experience, you're incredibly easy to impress." Quentin furrows his brow - he can't imagine anyone <i>not</i> being impressed by Eliot - but Eliot doesn't seem willing to let him contest the point. "Either way, it's just a story, Q. It doesn't matter."</p>
<p>"Fine," Quentin grumbles eventually, fighting down the urge to argue. He even manages it for a few seconds. "But if you ever, like, feel a mysterious inevitable pull—"</p>
<p>Eliot huffs out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus christ— yes, fine, I'll make sure you're the first to know, okay?"</p>
<p>Quentin's appeased grin is interrupted by more footsteps, not on the stairs this time, but up in the attic. They both look up just as there's a faint creak of a door closing quietly, and then silence.</p>
<p>"Penny," Eliot murmurs, closing his eyes briefly. "He says Julia's asleep. How are you feeling? Better?"</p>
<p>"Um— yeah, actually." Quentin hadn't even noticed the headache fading into the back of his mind, but by now it's just a shallow sort of tension, probably more from exhaustion than anything. </p>
<p>"The moon must be getting low," Eliot says, glancing out the windows, then turns back to raise an eyebrow at Quentin. "Wanna try standing up again?"</p>
<p>He does manage it, with a little help from Eliot, and the relief of his head not feeling like it's going to fall off his shoulders carries him all the way to the attic stairs - though he still sidesteps the moonlight pooling on the floor. And the steadying hand Eliot keeps on his waist probably contributes quite a bit.</p>
<p>Once Quentin has a tight enough grip on the railing to continue up the stairs unsupervised, Eliot steps back. "Try to get some rest, Q," he says softly, the house quiet enough for the words to carry easily. Quentin pauses halfway up to watch him turn and head for the other staircase leading back down into Haven, and finds himself taking a breath before he even knows what he's going to say.</p>
<p>"Hey, um—" Eliot pauses one stair down and looks back at him. "After you got rid of the bond," Quentin starts, a little timid - but curiosity once again wins out. "Did your family ever try to find you?"</p>
<p>He can't read Eliot's expression at first, but it slowly settles into a faint smile. "No," he says quietly. "But they aren't my family anymore. This is."</p>
<p>He disappears down the stairs before Quentin can say anything else.</p>
<p>Quentin continues up to the attic by himself, careful and quiet. He's only a little shaky by the time he shuffles past Julia's bed to fall into his own, but sleep doesn't come as quickly as he wants it to. The entire night seems to be swirling in his head, no longer throbbing but still sore like there isn't quite room for all of it.</p>
<p>He wonders what it's like to be as resolute as Eliot is, about his past, about the bond— about family, even. Quentin never felt that way about his previous pack. With Julia, sure, but she had already been his family for years beforehand. The others were distant friends at best.</p>
<p>This pack, though, and these wolves... It was strange enough to be welcomed, to be sought out for company, to be sat up with in the middle of the night. All that, paired with how easy it is to reach out through the bond, to feel the others in his mind— it's like day and night, how different it feels from before.</p>
<p>But Quentin is still the same. That's not going to change, no matter how far he runs, no matter how high his hopes get. And as long as he's <i>him</i>, there's no guarantee that he won't end up back where he started.</p>
<p>He rolls over, both relieved and a little sad that he can't see the moon through the attic window. His head still hurts a little, but he thinks he'd like to get one last look at it while it's full. There's no telling what might change over the next cycle. He wants to remember this while it lasts.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>guess what we got <a href="https://fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/post/634545424675520513/scene-from-when-the-night-is-coming-down-for">even more werewolfs fanart</a> and i have to lie down. the reaction to this fic continues to floor me! thank u so much.</p>
<p>in this chapter, recovered from the full moon, quentin goes to a different sort of party :O</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's kind of strange to look at the thin folder labelled <i>Eliot</i> on Alice's desk and know what must be missing from it. Surely she wouldn't have looked so wistful at the thought of interviewing a born wolf if she had any idea where Eliot came from, so anything he told her about his past must be either a lie or an extremely watered-down version of the real thing. Or, Quentin supposes, comparing the thickness of the other folders next to it, maybe Eliot hasn't told her anything at all.</p>
<p>He understands why Eliot would want to keep it to himself - it's hard not to think about his carefully blank look as he talked about <i>being set right</i> - but Quentin is a little surprised that he bars even his packmates from knowing about it. Except Margo, of course, who's obviously known from the beginning. And, for some reason, Quentin.</p>
<p>Maybe Eliot thought he wouldn't remember after his head stopped aching, or maybe it really was what he said, about being fair. He does know Quentin's whole deal, after all, or most of it, but that's not really— </p>
<p>"Quentin?" He looks up to find Alice giving him an expectant look, with Julia and Margo also staring at him from the end of her bed, and abruptly remembers why he's in Alice's room looking at her desk in the first place. "Anything to add?" Alice prompts.</p>
<p>They're supposed to be giving their account of the full moon for her records, him and Julia, which Quentin does remember promising to do even if he can't really call up his eagerness for the idea. He figures Julia has probably described the hours-long headache pretty accurately already. "No, that's, uh," he stammers, tripping his way back to the bed to sit beside her, ignoring the amused smirk he can see her trying to bite back. "That... sums it up."</p>
<p>"So the main difference seems to be the rapid onset, in Quentin's case," Alice sighs as she flips back a page in her notebook, "but the effects were very similar for both of you. Dizziness, migraine, oversensitivity…"</p>
<p>"Anything like this happens again, you tell me," Margo huffs, leaning over to swat Quentin's leg. "I don't care how much like hot garbage you feel, I want to know."</p>
<p>He winces more from the chiding than anything, having already been scolded about this more than once over the week since the full moon - he knows, intimately, the unimpressed look his But I Didn't Want You To Worry excuse will get him. "That goes for both of you," Margo adds, with a pointed stare at Julia, and they both nod meekly. </p>
<p>Quentin does wonder, though, what really counts as 'anything like this'. Margo was right about the bond working itself out after the full moon, and in the days since then it's been— good. Great, even, all the gaps filled in - but that doesn't mean he isn't still worried about things changing. He's not sure if it's worth struggling through trying to explain that to Margo, though. There's probably not much she could do about it, anyway.</p>
<p>"I'll need some time to make a hard copy of this," Alice says, drawing Quentin's attention back to her. "I think it's an outlier, but I'll see if I have anything else about any sort of— moonsickness, or replacing bonds, or maybe just any non-standard full moon experience…" She trails off and looks up at the others, blinking like she's just remembered they're there. "I... might need to spread things out though, so—"</p>
<p>"Alright, come on," Margo orders at once, standing up to shoo the other two off the bed. "You heard the lady, <i>vamos</i>." Quentin lets himself be herded out of the room with Julia, and thinks he sees Margo wink at Alice over her shoulder before she closes the door behind them and starts down the hall.</p>
<p>They follow her out into the main room, where the sun is spreading dim orange light across the floor as it dips behind the other buildings in the courtyard outside the window. Kady is waiting there by the stairs with her arms crossed, but she smiles as they come out of the hall. It catches Quentin off-guard for a long, confused second until Julia steps past him to join her.</p>
<p>Abruptly he remembers several things that the interview with Alice had pushed out of his mind - namely all that Julia had told him about the ritual the local coven would be hosting that night for the summer solstice. It's weird to think that he and Julia have been in the city long enough to see a season change— or, well, it's actually only been, like, three weeks, maybe a little less. But it's definitely felt longer than that, or maybe shorter, whichever. Quentin hasn't been keeping track.</p>
<p>Either way, the witches' Midsummer ritual is <i>very</i> prestigious, according to Julia, but Kady managed to get her invited along. She had blushed a little when she told him that, kind of like how she's doing now, as she takes Kady's outstretched hand. That catches Quentin off-guard as well - he knows they've spent a lot of time together, of course, but it was Penny who stayed up with Julia on the full moon night, wasn't it? He'd kind of been thinking that the two of them might be… but maybe he read it wrong? Or maybe the pink across Julia's cheeks is just the sunlight settling?</p>
<p>"Heading out?" Margo asks, glancing out the window. "You're cutting it pretty close. I thought the casting starts as soon as the sun goes down."</p>
<p>"It does," Kady agrees, shrugging. "I've been setting up with Marina all day. I just came back to grab my plus-one." She turns to grin at Julia. "Ready to go?"</p>
<p>Julia nods and starts to follow her down the stairs, turning back just once to give Quentin an excited wave. "See you later, Q."</p>
<p>Quentin hurriedly puts away his puzzled look and returns the wave with a smile. Margo leans on his shoulder to watch them go. "Have fun," she sing-songs after them. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Quentin is pretty sure he hears Kady snort just before they descend out of sight.</p>
<p>Margo sighs, quiet for a moment before she slips her arm around Quentin's and smirks up at him. "We should start getting ready, too."</p>
<p>Quentin's stomach sinks, one last pushed-out thing returning to his mind. "Oh. Right."</p>
<p>The summer solstice arriving also means the Lunar Council is due to meet in the city. It's not an event the entire pack needs to attend, the only required presence being Margo's, and when they'd discussed it a few days before, Quentin had been not at all surprised to learn that Eliot was going with her. He had expected Julia to want to go too, when Margo asked if she wanted to tag along, but the Midsummer ritual apparently took priority. And then Margo had shrugged, and offered the spot to Quentin.</p>
<p>He wasn't especially keen on the idea, at first, but he knew Julia was sad to miss the meeting, even if she was more excited about Midsummer. So he agreed, if only just to relay the experience to her afterwards like she had done for him so many times. The problem is that now, he has to actually go.</p>
<p>It's the thought of being around so many strangers, mostly. Not so bad when he's downstairs in the bar and can just run back up if he gets uncomfortable, but the Lunar Council meets up at some undoubtedly mysterious and secret location, with wolves from all over the northeast. And somehow Quentin doubts that there's a No Fighting rule in place.</p>
<p>"Have you thought about what you're wearing?" Margo asks, leading him over to the attic stairs. "Actually, you know what, just let me choose."</p>
<p>She glances up at him amusedly, then frowns when she apparently doesn't find the enthusiasm she's looking for. Quentin tries his best to muster it up and keep going, but she tugs him back. "Hey," she says, her voice is gentle as she reaches up to brush his hair behind his ear. "You're good, right?"</p>
<p>Quentin manages to smile at the touch, not even forcing it. "I'm fine, I swear."</p>
<p>And he is, for the most part. Things have seemed to settle after the full moon, and even though he can't help feeling that he... hasn't, exactly, it's not like there's anything to be done about it. And besides, as Margo gives up her suspicious look and pulls him towards the stairs again, he starts to think he won't have time to worry about all that tonight anyway.</p>
<p>Once Margo has rooted through his closet and her own, by which time the sun really has set, they go downstairs to meet Eliot at Haven's front doors. Quentin really didn't think that the Council was something one was supposed to dress up for - Corrigan certainly never did, anyway - but Margo and Eliot both look, like, <i>nice</i>. Nicer than usual. And they match, his tie and her dress the same deep red. But it takes Quentin seeing all three of their reflections in the dark windows as they head outside to realize the sweater Margo all but tugged over his head for him is that colour, too.</p>
<p>They take a car, which is weird. Margo tosses a set of keys to Eliot as they approach a black four-door something-or-other parked outside the bar, and Quentin decides not to question where she procured them from. He has an odd moment getting into the backseat where he remembers that he hasn't actually been in a car on a city street in— what must be at least a year, by now, but then the engine comes to life and Eliot pulls away from the curb, and he forgets about it.</p>
<p>His sense of direction still isn't great, and even worse when he can't see the moon through the window, so he doesn't pay much attention to where exactly they're going, but he does watch the city lights fly past and try not to twist his fingers in the hem of his sweater. It's like he can feel their destination getting closer, a sense of daunting that grows with every block they pass. Or maybe it's just regular old anxiety building in his chest. Either way, he makes himself wait for a lull in Margo and Eliot's murmured front seat conversation before trying to speak up.</p>
<p>"So, what's it… like?" he manages to ask. "Lunar Council, I mean." It's hard to not call it Wolf Court, but he had done that once earlier, and Margo had given him a weird look and muttered something about Viola Davis.</p>
<p>Now, she twists in her seat to raise her eyebrows at him. "I keep forgetting you've never been. Hasn't Julia told you about it?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, but. That's different from, like, actually going." He catches himself worrying the hem again and spreads his hands out on his thighs instead. "She made it sound like a business mixer."</p>
<p>"It kind of is," Eliot snorts, glancing at him in the rearview.</p>
<p>"Hey, it's as much of a party as an ancient, sacred gathering of werewolves can be," Margo says, rolling her eyes. "You show up, maybe mingle, maybe get some gossip, then at sunrise everyone goes home. No ice-breakers involved," she adds, smirking.</p>
<p>Quentin is too relieved to be annoyed that he's so easy to read. "And isn't there something just for alpha wolves? A roundtable?"</p>
<p>"That's the actual Council meeting," Margo says with a sigh. "The alphas all sit down together to bitch about whatever's been going on for the past few months. Usually it's boring, but after that it's just a <i>soirée</i> for the rest of the night. Catching up, enjoying the catering, you know."</p>
<p>"Huh." It sounds almost pleasantly low-key for what's essentially a werewolf mixer. "So it really is just, like, networking."</p>
<p>Margo shrugs. "It's good to stay informed. And socialization is important, too," she says, giving Quentin one last smirk before she turns back around. "So if you make friends tonight and ditch us for them, I promise we won't be offended."</p>
<p>Quentin resists the urge to laugh out loud. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that," he says wryly, as Eliot turns them onto a new road.</p>
<p>They're by the waterfront now - Quentin hadn't realized how close they were getting to the edge of the city until the scent of it hits him all at once. It's dark out here, the rough ground only lit by the car's headlights and the odd lamp along the docks. After a long minute of wondering if the meeting is actually on a boat or something, he's a little relieved when a building rises up before them at the end of the path, the shape of it blotting out the distant high-rises across the water. </p>
<p>As they get closer, he can see warm lights at the entrance, and a wood exterior that makes him think of a ski lodge, or maybe a nautical-themed restaurant. There doesn't seem to be any signage, though, or a name displayed anywhere he can see. He doesn't notice the long oval driveway out in front of the building until Eliot is pulling into it, sliding smoothly into park beside a few other cars already there. He and Margo immediately step out, and Quentin hurries to follow, nearly closing his seatbelt in the door in his haste to straighten up and look around.</p>
<p>The lodge, or whatever it is, is right on the water, fenced in by docks and cargo containers, backlit by the city across the harbor. There are more cars pulling up in the driveway now, and other people milling around the outside - other wolves, Quentin reminds himself, the thought still kind of thrilling. Knowing that it's going to be a wolves-only event and actually seeing it unfold in front of him are two very different things.</p>
<p>A little dazed, he comes around the car to join Eliot and Margo where they're waiting for him by the hood, both looking amused. He tries to school his face into something less awed, but Margo just smiles, smoothing out her skirt and tossing her hair over her shoulder.</p>
<p>"You boys ready?" she asks, looking between them expectantly - but before Quentin can take a breath to answer, she's already hooking her arm around his leading the way up the front walk, with Eliot smirking at her other side.</p>
<p>Some of the wolves they pass barely glance up, but others watch them so intently it makes Quentin almost nervous. It's weird to know it's not just Eliot and Margo, in their matching outfits with their matching aloofness, that's drawing their eyes - but him too, somehow a part of their untouchable bubble. Or maybe it's because he looks out of place beside them, even part of the colour scheme, even with Margo's hand on his arm. Both options make his stomach clench.</p>
<p>Still, he lets himself be led right past the front doors of the lodge and around the side instead, straight to the back where the path opens up into what looks like a shipping dock. There are some containers stacked around the edges of the lot, but no boats in the water beyond, leaving a blank rippling surface to reflect the half-circle of the moon. Before Quentin can get caught up staring at it, Margo tugs him over to a set of stairs and up to a wide terrace extending out from the lodge, lit with torches and warm hanging lights.</p>
<p>It looks like the mixer is already in full swing, the space full of people and tables and chairs, conversation and laughter and whispering, and <i>so many</i> wolves, at least a hundred, maybe more— and their arrival calls up a few more stares from some of them. Margo and Eliot don't seem to notice - or if they do, they don't care. Quentin tries to do the same, but he can feel eyes lingering on him, picking him out as they wade across the terrace. A spike of anxiety hits him when Margo pulls her hand away, and he has to resist the urge to grab it back.</p>
<p>"The roundtable kicks this whole thing off," she says, glancing over her shoulder. Quentin follows her gaze and sees some other wolves already heading through the doors at the other end of the terrace, leading into the lodge. They must all be alphas, if the real meeting is in there.</p>
<p>Margo gets his attention back with a pat on his cheek. "Back in a bit. Don't have too much fun without me."</p>
<p>"Wouldn't dream of it," Eliot says easily, and she blows him a kiss before turning to head inside with the other alphas.</p>
<p>Quentin watches her stride away, but he's more focused on the fact that Eliot stays behind with him. He's kind of surprised that he isn't going with her, but as the doors close with a creaking thud, he decides he's actually pretty relieved to not be left alone. Especially with all these strange wolves who may or may not be staring at him. He can't tell if he's imagining it or not.</p>
<p>He snaps out of that thought as soon as Eliot turns to him, eyebrows raised. "Want a drink?"</p>
<p>Clearing his throat, Quentin pushes his hair out of his face and tries to make himself relax. "The real kind, or the magic kind?"</p>
<p>"The expensive kind." With a grin, Eliot starts to lead him across the terrace to the long fancy tables where catering is set up. There's all sorts of tiny plates and apparent delicacies that he points out, but Quentin finds he doesn't have much of an appetite. He's not thirsty either, but he takes the long-stemmed glass Eliot presses into his hands just to have something to fidget with.</p>
<p>They're stopped by a few different wolves on their way along, some of which even give Quentin an interested sort of once-over, but Eliot keeps their greetings short and deflects conversation starters easily, so Quentin never has to try to stumble through introducing himself. He can still feel eyes swivelling to him every time he moves, though, and it's a relief when he and Eliot make their way to the edge of the terrace, a corner boxed in by railings where they can see over the water and across the harbor.</p>
<p>It's a nice view, especially the moon on the water, and Quentin can mostly ignore the fact that he has his back to the rest of the party - at least until the feeling of being watched grows too prickly to ignore. When he tries to turn back around, Eliot stops him with a hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p><i>You're hackling,</i> Eliot tells him, his voice soft and just a little teasing as it slips into Quentin' mind.</p>
<p>Quentin had barely noticed the tingling along his spine, and forces out a long breath, shivering as it dissipates. <i>Sorry. It just feels like people are staring.</i></p>
<p>Eliot gives him an amused look. <i>They are. You're a new face, they're curious.</i></p>
<p>Frowning, Quentin makes a wary glance over his shoulder, but Eliot huffs a laugh and shifts a little closer to him, leaning his elbow on the railing. "Don't worry," he murmurs, out loud now. "All they know is that you're with Margo. You picked up the pack scent a while ago."</p>
<p>"Oh." That's a relief, at least. Quentin tries turning around again and Eliot lets him this time, his hand slipping down Quentin's arm and then plucking the untouched wine glass out of his weak grip to set it aside. Quentin barely notices, too busy glancing between all the strange wolves mingling around - some sitting and some standing, some laughing together and some bent close to whisper, and some just grouped up quietly at their own tables with their eyes on the lodge doors. "Do you know everyone here?" he asks, hoping it sounds much more casual than he feels.</p>
<p>"I know who runs with who," Eliot hums, following his gaze. "Want me to point out which ones are friendly?"</p>
<p>For a moment, Quentin thinks back to what Margo said about socializing— but then decides to be realistic, and glances up at Eliot with a weak grimace. "Which ones to avoid would be more helpful, probably."</p>
<p>"Well, while there are some wildly unlikable wolves in these parts, the worst ones have enough of a superiority complex that they probably won't bother you," Eliot sighs, turning just slightly to survey the terrace while staying close enough to Quentin to keep his voice low. "There are a few worth steering clear of, though."</p>
<p>He looks around for a moment, then nods toward the catering tables. "The smarmy-looking asshole in a blazer over there, that's Pete. He likes picking on new attendees, so just keep your distance. And that's Ess, by the stairs-" He nudges Quentin's arm to direct his gaze over to a man pacing there, wearing something across his shoulders that looks alarmingly like fur. "He challenged his alpha a few months ago, and lost. He's been kind of pissy ever since. Oh, and that entire table, in the middle by the doors, that's the McAllister pack."</p>
<p>Quentin thinks they look more like they should be at a country club or a business luncheon, rather than a werewolf party, with their elegant blouses and starched collars. "They like to tell people they're descended from born wolves, but they're not," Eliot explains, rolling his eyes before moving on. "And the rest… well, you'll only be seeing them every few months, anyway." He pauses for a second, then glances at Quentin. "If you keep coming with us, that is."</p>
<p>Before Quentin can say anything, the lodge doors are pushed open and the alpha wolves start to come back out to the terrace. Eliot looks up again, eyebrows raised. "That was quick. Not much drama this time around, I guess."</p>
<p>"Is that really all they talk about?" Quentin asks, craning his neck to try and spot Margo in the emerging crowd. "Like, <i>The View</i> but for werewolves?"</p>
<p>Eliot snorts. "Essentially, yes. Actually, this time there was something— oh, christ."</p>
<p>Confused, Quentin turns to see him making a face at something across the terrace. "What?"</p>
<p>"Todd," Eliot grumbles, but stops Quentin from trying to follow his gaze. "It's too late, he's noticed us. God, he's bringing the whole lacrosse team." He turns to look over the railing, as if considering whether jumping would be worth it.</p>
<p>Quentin takes the opportunity to glance over his shoulder, and sure enough, Todd is approaching with a few other wolves grouped up behind him. They don't look as scary as some of the strangers Quentin has walked past today, though, and he's almost relieved at the arrival of a familiar face. He grabs Eliot's sleeve, just in case he tries to literally run away, and manages to smile as Todd comes closer - but Todd doesn't seem as bright and enthused as usual. He's kind of awed instead, and all his friends look a little scared, actually.</p>
<p>"Hey," Quentin greets, faltering halfway through. "Uh, what's up?"</p>
<p>"Oh, you know," Todd says vaguely, clearly trying to grin at him, but it's weak and almost nervous. "Just hanging out. We kind of wanted to— since the meeting just ended, and some of the alphas were talking about— well. Um." He pauses in his floundering and glances back at the other wolves, who nod to urge him on. "We're just wondering if, uh. If it's true."</p>
<p>It's then that Quentin realizes they're all staring at <i>him</i>, not at Eliot, or between them. He furrows his brow and gives Eliot a confused glance, but he looks just as lost as Quentin is. Todd and his friends seem to hold their breath. "If what's true?" Quentin asks, turning back to them.</p>
<p>In the time it takes Todd to inhale, something clicks for Eliot, and he goes rigid beside Quentin. "Todd—" he tries to cut in, but Todd is already plowing on.</p>
<p>"Were you really attacked by that wolf?" he asks, his wide eyes pinned on Quentin. "And it killed your whole pack?"</p>
<p>Quentin forgets how to breathe, for a moment. The words break on him like a swell of cold water that settles like ice in his throat, dripping down through his ribs, pooling around his feet.</p>
<p>"But you and Julia escaped," Todd goes on, almost— excited, somehow, but it seems far away, unintelligible. "And then you—"</p>
<p>"Todd," Eliot says again, sharply now, eyes flashing gold. A growl rises from his chest as he takes a step in front of Quentin. The others all take a step back. "Stop talking, get the fuck out of here. Now. All of you."</p>
<p>They all scatter in seconds, but the ice in Quentin's throat stays put. Past Eliot's shoulder he can see other wolves around the terrace looking over at them, whispering and staring— but then Eliot turns back around and blocks his view. The anger in his gaze hasn't faded, exactly, but it's ebbing like he's purposefully tamping it down as he looks at Quentin. "Are you alright?"</p>
<p>Quentin can't even begin to think about how to answer that. He feels like he's been knocked off balance, like he's lost the frequency he's supposed to transmit on. "How do they know about that?" he manages to ask, his mouth dry and tongue heavy. "I thought— Alice said Margo didn't tell anyone at Haven."</p>
<p>"She didn't," Eliot agrees, but a worried pinch appears between his brows, and he lets out a short breath. "Look, Q— Margo's plan for the meeting tonight was to talk to the other alphas about the Beast. But not all of them think it's a real threat, even the elders, so to get the discussion on the table she… told them what happened. With your other pack."</p>
<p>"Oh," Quentin says. "Okay." It's not okay, but it's all he can come up with. He realizes belatedly that he's still holding Eliot's sleeve, and makes his stiff fingers let go. "So Todd and his friends, they—"</p>
<p>"Their alphas must have spread it to them before they even left the roundtable," Eliot huffs, anger sparking again, but it only lasts a moment before it's replaced by worry. "We should've told you earlier that she would be talking about it, but we thought it would be easier for you if we could avoid it, and— fuck, Quentin, I <i>swear</i> this isn't what we meant to happen. Nobody was supposed to—"</p>
<p>"It's, uh," Quentin cuts him off, swallowing past the lump of ice, feeling it sink through him and dissipate. "It's fine." He probably should have expected this, right? Surely the Council would notice Corrigan's absence and wonder what happened, and of course it makes sense to warn the others about what the Beast is capable of.</p>
<p>Even so, it's not entirely pleasant to feel so many eyes on him. No doubt every wolf in attendance has had the story relayed through their respective bonds by now, and everyone around him knows. Is that why they were staring earlier? Wondering about the stray in their midst, fascinated like Todd or edging on fearful like his friends?</p>
<p>Quentin doesn't dare look around the terrace now, not wanting to catch anybody's pitying gaze or repulsed sneer. He still feels unbalanced, but tries to ignore it - to ignore all of it, or at least look like he is, because Eliot is still watching him with something like concern, and Quentin really doesn't want to get asked if he's okay again.</p>
<p>Luckily, Margo reappears before Eliot can try it, slipping in next to them like she'd been there the whole time. She frowns as she picks up Quentin's abandoned glass and leans back against the railing with a huff. "I know the elders shell out for this stuff as a power move," she sighs, glaring down at the drink, "but with the way some of these assholes are talking, you'd think it really does impair brain function."</p>
<p>"Not a great meeting, then?" Eliot asks, managing a sympathetic frown, but his eyes go right back to Quentin a moment later. "There's always next—"</p>
<p>"What did they say about the Beast?" Quentin interrupts, forcing his voice to work. Margo glances at him so quickly that he probably would've missed it if he weren't so purposefully focused on her, and then at Eliot, clearly baffled.</p>
<p>A second of silence passes between the two of them and Quentin is sure they must be talking through the bond - it takes barely any time at all, but he's suddenly restless, anxiously clenching his fists. "Yes, I know," he says, letting it come out harsh. "Todd came over and dropped the bomb, everyone knows now."</p>
<p>"Fucking <i>Todd</i>," Margo groans. "Quentin, we really—"</p>
<p>"It's fine, I don't care," Quentin says impatiently— or maybe he does, he's not sure. He just doesn't want to think about it yet, or hear another apology. "Just— did the other alphas tell you anything? Have there been any more attacks?"</p>
<p>Margo takes another excruciating second to give him a look he's too edgy to read, then sighs through her nose. "There have been some rumoured sightings," she says, not quite haltingly, but clearly reluctant. "Nothing concrete, though, and they're kind of all over the place - coyote activity in the city outskirts, a bear somewhere near the state line, a couple other things further out. Razed farmland, stuff like that."</p>
<p>"So he's moving on?" Eliot asks, but Margo only shrugs.</p>
<p>"Maybe. None of it has been confirmed as the Beast. I told the Council we should investigate, but nobody is especially willing. Some of them are still skeptical that one lone wolf could do so much damage," she huffs, hands on her hips. "We do have some allies in there, Idri mostly, and Agate. Fogg and Harriet both offered to keep a lookout, even if the rest of the Council won't bother."</p>
<p>She glances at Quentin then, frowning as she searches his face. "Telling them about you and Julia helped," she says, softer, "but I should've known it wouldn't stay at the table. I didn't mean for you to get blindsided, Q, that's on me."</p>
<p>She looks genuinely regretful - they both do, Eliot's mouth twisting guiltily the longer Quentin takes to decide on a reaction. And he's not— mad, exactly, not at them. Part of him wants to be, but another part just wants to take the comfort where it's offered. He loosens his fists, crossing his arms instead.</p>
<p>"I guess it doesn't matter now," he mumbles. "Like, it sucks, but it would've sucked just as much hearing it later." Well, maybe a bit less, actually, because later there wouldn't have been this many strangers around who all suddenly know about the most traumatic experience of his life, but. Semantics.</p>
<p>Margo reaches out to touch his hair for a moment, brushing her fingers past his ear, and there's another short silence where she and Eliot seem to have an entire conversation in the span of a few seconds. Eventually she huffs out a breath, and suddenly she's back to her usual sharpness, glancing impassively around the terrace.</p>
<p>"Well, boys," she sighs, putting Quentin's glass down on the railing and smoothing out her skirt again, "I don't know if I'm feeling the afterparty this time around."</p>
<p>"Seconded," Eliot says immediately, and gently nudges Quentin's arm. "What do you think, Q? Keep in mind you've already been outvoted."</p>
<p>And, well, Quentin knows an easy out when he hears one, even when it's not especially subtle. He gives a weak nod that both Eliot and Margo seem to take as approval enough to start heading back across the terrace, and purposefully keeps his eyes on the back of Eliot's coat as he follows. He doesn't feel entirely evened out just yet, but he can put one foot in front of the other, at least.</p>
<p>Eliot glances back at him near the stairs, pausing half a step to let him catch up. He holds one arm out to lay over Quentin's shoulders once he's close enough, and Quentin manages a thin smile, feeling something inside him recenter itself as Eliot leads him down the steps after Margo.</p>
<p>The noise from the terrace fades enough on their descent to hear the gentle waves lapping at the edge of the dock. Quentin gets one more look at the moon shining down on the water as they pass, the near-perfect semicircle scattered and rippling, before a loud laugh cuts through the lull. Margo and Eliot both stop as a small group of wolves approach from across the lot.</p>
<p>At the front, Quentin recognizes Ess from Eliot's earlier commentary, and feels unease start to spread through him. Eliot stiffens just enough for Quentin to feel it where he's pressed under his arm, but his expression remains stoic.</p>
<p>Margo, on the other hand, is clearly unimpressed. "We're leaving. What do you want?"</p>
<p>"Just wanted to get a look at the local celebrity," Ess says innocently, but his obvious sneer as he stares at Quentin gives him away. "Some miraculous survivor," he scoffs. "If this Beast is supposed to be such a threat, how did an easy mark like this manage to escape?"</p>
<p>"Best be real careful who you're calling easy," Margo says, narrowing her eyes as Ess steps past her. "He's one of mine."</p>
<p>"Of course he is," Ess sighs, giving Quentin a mocking smile. "No other wolf in their right mind would pick up a stray, let alone two at once. The other one must be tougher than this, right? Or do both of them look like they'd roll over at the first sign of claws?"</p>
<p>Margo rolls her eyes. "Oh, fuck off. As if you'd know what it takes to win a fight." Ess glares at her, flushing angrily as some of the other wolves around them stifle laughter. "Do I need to get Idri down here to remind you?"</p>
<p>"<i>Idri</i> is busy wasting time worrying about your Beast," Ess throws back at her. Quentin is pretty sure he sees the glint of fangs in his mouth. "You're all paranoid, getting worked up over nothing."</p>
<p>"You think a trail of dead wolves is nothing?" Margo asks, eyebrows raised. "Three entire packs, four including Corrigan—"</p>
<p>"But it wasn't his <i>entire</i> pack, was it?" Ess interrupts, leering at Quentin again.</p>
<p>With a low growl, Eliot slides his arm off Quentin's shoulders and moves in front of him. The smile drops off Ess's face and he quickly goes back to scowling at Margo. "There's no way one lone wolf could have done everything you say he has, alpha or not," he insists.</p>
<p>A flare of anger suddenly sparks in Quentin's gut. "You haven't seen him," he grits out, jaw tingling where his own fangs are threatening to emerge. He doesn't realize he's stepped forward until Eliot stops him with a hand across his chest.</p>
<p>Ess seems genuinely shocked for a moment, then laughs again. "Oh, he speaks!" he jeers. "Well, you'll have to forgive me for trusting my own instincts over yours."</p>
<p>"And over mine?" Margo says sharply. "Over Idri's?"</p>
<p>"You're both drawing lines that don't exist," Ess scoffs, waving her off. "All four of these attacks could be isolated incidents. Maybe a different pack taking revenge, a feud or a broken alliance." His mouth twists in disgust. "It could be the work of one of those inbred backcountry packs, for all we know about what born wolves do to each other."</p>
<p>Quentin can almost feel the growl that rumbles through Eliot at that, but he stays put, half in front of Quentin with one arm still keeping him back.</p>
<p>"If your Beast exists, he clearly doesn't do his hunting in places like this," Ess goes on, gesturing around them. "We've got nothing to worry about. None of the attacks have happened anywhere but backwoods and now-uninhabited wilderness. There's never been one anywhere near a city."</p>
<p>"There have never been survivors before, either," Margo points out, still sharp, but Ess just laughs.</p>
<p>"Listen to yourself," he sneers again, glancing haughtily at the other wolves. "You think this Beast, this lone alpha, is going to follow your new pups across state lines? Into <i>our</i> territory, completely exposed, just to— what, hunt down the two that got away?"</p>
<p>He turns to Quentin with a pitying look that makes his hackles rise. "Weren't you taught by your alpha that— or wait," he pauses, tilting his head in mock sympathy. "Your alpha is dead."</p>
<p>Ice rises in Quentin's throat again but he refuses to choke on it, forcing himself to hold the taunting gaze. Eliot growls warningly again, but Ess ignores him, taking another step towards Quentin.</p>
<p>"Someone should've told you by now," he says roughly, "that <i>nobody</i> gives that much of a shit about strays."</p>
<p>As soon as the words leave his mouth, there's a sudden snarl from behind him, and gasping from the surrounding wolves. Eliot grabs Quentin's arm the same moment that Margo's voice blares into his mind. <i>Move.</i></p>
<p>Eliot tugs him back, and Quentin gets a split second glimpse of Ess turning around before a wolf pounces on him, claws out and jaws snapping, scraps of red fabric hanging off her.</p>
<p>Quentin has never seen Margo shift before, but he's sure he would recognize this form even without the shiver of change that he feels through the bond. She's— terrifying, honestly, sleek and sharp and still snarling as she knocks Ess to the ground. </p>
<p>He doesn't stand a chance. Margo has him pinned beneath her before any of the other wolves can get close enough to try and break it up, and one flash of her fangs has them falling back anyway. Ess rolls over easily, baring his throat like he can't get his chin up fast enough. Quentin hears Eliot huff a scornful laugh, but they're both too focused on Margo to say anything.</p>
<p>The commotion doesn't go unnoticed by the party on the terrace, and by the time a group of wolves, mostly alphas, has hurried down the stairs, Margo has already shifted back. Eliot is at her side immediately, slipping out of his coat to wrap it around her shoulders as she stands up. She gathers that and the remnants of her dress around her, and gives Ess, still on the ground, one last disdainful look down her nose before she turns around to leave the dock.</p>
<p>Her voice slips back into Quentin's mind, quieter than before, but sharp and steady - <i>We're not sticking around for the lecture,</i> and then, once Quentin has remembered how to move his legs to follow her and Eliot, <i>Grab my shoes.</i></p>
<p>Quentin ducks back to pick up her discarded heels, risking just one glance at the other wolves gathered on the dock. Todd is there now, stumbling over himself to relay what happened to an alpha - Idri, Quentin guesses, judging by the furs and the disappointed look he's sending Ess's way as he's hauled up off the ground. A couple of the other wolves are watching Margo and Eliot leave, but no one moves to stop them going. Quentin turns and hurries after them.</p>
<p>The car ride back to Haven is quiet. Margo sits in the back beside Quentin, still bundled in Eliot's coat. Quentin wants to ask if she's okay, but whenever he gets a glimpse of her under a passing streetlight, her eyes are closed and her jaw is tight, and she's breathing deeply in what is either a post-shift cooldown exercise or a sign that she's still angry. He decides not to risk it.</p>
<p>He's still kind of amazed at the ferocity of her reaction, defending him. He just hopes that whatever lecture they skipped was more of a gentle chiding than any real admonishment. And Idri - he's one of the alphas Margo said was actually going to help, so hopefully her curbstomping one of his packmates on Quentin's behalf doesn't change his mind. Ess probably deserved it, but if the fight causes any problems for Margo with the Council… Quentin's stomach sinks at the thought.</p>
<p>It was because of him that they were down on the dock in the first place, because <i>he</i> wanted to leave, because he couldn't handle being <i>looked at</i>. Why can't he ever manage to relax, to sit still and not take everything so personally? Every time something seems to fall in place to settle his footing here, it's like he can't help making sure he topples over anyway.</p>
<p>Guilt twists in his gut for the rest of the journey, all the way from the backseat to the front door and then up the stairs, following behind Eliot as he helps Margo along. When they get to the main floor, Quentin barely glances at the attic stairs before trailing after the other two up to the loft instead. He knows he should probably just go back to his and Julia's room, try to sleep off the fading adrenaline and weird curling guilt, but— well, he still has Margo's shoes, for one thing, and he really does want to be sure she's alright.</p>
<p>He follows them through the little den, past the fireplace and up the single step to Margo's bedroom. Eliot lowers Margo onto the edge of the mattress, and Margo slowly slips the coat off her shoulders, and Quentin stands awkwardly at the edge of the room until he remembers to give her the heels back.</p>
<p>Margo gives him a tired smile when he holds them out, and shows him which corner of the room to toss them into. "I have another dress they go with, at least," she sighs, standing up a little unsteadily to survey the state of her current tattered garment. "Sorry you didn't get a chance to get a claw or five into Ess yourself."</p>
<p>"That's okay," Quentin says weakly, turning away when Margo starts to tug it down over her hips. "I think you managed to convey my feelings pretty well." He hears Eliot snicker where he's pawing through the closet across the room, and then the soft noise of fabric hitting the floor. </p>
<p>Margo really does seem fine, if not a little exhausted, and with both missions now accomplished, Quentin is free to go across the way to the attic and start figuring out how he's going to tell Julia about all this. He makes himself speak again instead.</p>
<p>"Thanks for sticking up for me," he says quietly, watching Margo's bare feet step out of the remnants of her dress. "But you didn't have to. It's not worth, like, making enemies over."</p>
<p>"I wasn't making enemies," Margo scoffs. "I was setting that asshole straight." When Quentin risks peeking upwards, Eliot is there with a silky robe to wrap around her, and she ties it at her waist before sitting back down on her bed with a huff. "Now he and anybody else who's feeling skeptical knows we're not fucking around on this."</p>
<p>"Oh." That's somehow not the reaction Quentin was expecting, although he can't think of what else he really wanted her to say. "Is that why you brought me along?" he asks, brow furrowing the more he thinks about it. "For merit? Like, it's not just rumours anymore, here's the guy it happened to?"</p>
<p>Margo and Eliot both fully pause, turning to look at him incredulously. "No, of course not," Eliot says, abandoning his vest half-undone to come around the bed and face him properly. "Quentin, we wouldn't do that."</p>
<p>"We brought you because we wanted you to come," Margo says slowly, like it's obvious. "It had nothing to do with the roundtable, or Ess, or any of that."</p>
<p>It's a tiny relief, quickly overshadowed by guilt. Quentin pushes his hair behind his ear, but it falls right back across his face when he crosses his arms over his chest. "I just don't... I don't want to make trouble for you."</p>
<p>"Quentin," Margo says, flat in a way that makes him look up at her. "I stood up for you because I don't let anyone talk about my pack that way. If the Council has a problem with that, they can shove it. I wouldn't let any of them get away with shit-talking you, either."</p>
<p>"That's not what I—" He cuts off with a sigh and tries again. "Look, I know I'm not, like, an ideal packmate, but—"</p>
<p>Margo stops him with a baffled look that narrows into something almost insulted. "What's <i>that</i> supposed to mean?"</p>
<p>"I— you... know what it means," Quentin says, frowning at her in confusion. "Ess even said it."</p>
<p>"The stray thing?" At his nod, Margo rolls her eyes. "He was just being a dick."</p>
<p>"Yeah, well. Still." Quentin looks down again with a weak shrug. "He's not wrong."</p>
<p>After a long moment of silence, Margo scoffs again. "Is that how you really feel?" she asks. "That nobody should give a shit about you?"</p>
<p>"Margo," Eliot says softly, but Margo shoots him a glare before turning back to Quentin.</p>
<p>"Do you want out?" she asks sharply.</p>
<p>Quentin's stomach drops. It takes a few seconds to get his voice to work, and even then it's weak. "What?"</p>
<p>Margo barely bats an eye. "Do you want to leave?"</p>
<p>"I—" Quentin glances at Eliot, but he's looking at Margo, and Margo is still staring expectantly at Quentin. "I don't— Margo, I'm not—"</p>
<p>"Listen," Margo cuts him off, and it's not a command, her eyes don't flash, but Quentin's mouth snaps shut anyway. "Everyone in this pack is not only someone I <i>asked</i> to be here, but also someone who <i>chose</i> it for themselves. If you don't want to be part of that, fine." She waves a careless hand that nearly makes Quentin flinch. "You'd rather be a lone wolf? Great. But be honest about it," she grits out, voice low. "Don't waste my time."</p>
<p>"I'm not," Quentin says, nearly breathless with panic. The thought of leaving, of being alone again, is almost sickening. "I don't— I <i>want</i> this, I want to stay."</p>
<p>Margo throws her hands up in exasperation. "Then what the fuck is this, Quentin? You're here, you're in it, but you say shit like that and I don't know what you want me to think." Quentin curls his arms in tighter, guilt twisting his insides into a heavy knot. He has to fight to keep from dropping Margo's harsh gaze. "You're not a stray anymore," she says firmly. "Tell me you know that."</p>
<p>Quentin clenches his fists in his sleeves. "I do, I know, I'm just—"</p>
<p>"Then what is this really about?" Margo demands. "If it's not that, what is it?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," Quentin says desperately, "I just— I don't want to get my hopes up."</p>
<p>It almost hurts coming off his tongue. Margo doesnt look away. "For what?"</p>
<p>"For <i>this</i>," Quentin admits, forcing the words out. "For actually... <i>having</i> this. I don't want to get used to it if I'm— if I'm just going to lose it."</p>
<p>"Why would you?" Eliot asks, his hushed voice almost making Quentin jump. Quentin glances at him quickly and then back to Margo, whose hard stare seems to be softening the longer she watches him, little by little.</p>
<p>"Is this about the Beast?" She raises an eyebrow. "None of us are going anywhere. I'd like to see that motherfucker try."</p>
<p>Quentin shakes his head, looking down again. "No, it's not that."</p>
<p>"Then <i>what?</i>"</p>
<p>Those words are harder to drag up, and Quentin struggles for a few seconds before Margo gives a quiet sigh. "Quentin," she murmurs, sharp edges gone, and when he lifts his gaze she's holding out a hand to him.</p>
<p>He crosses to the foot of the bed, feeling stiff and shaky, and lets Margo pull him down beside her. Eliot follows, settling on her other side, and she brushes Quentin's hair out of his face with the hand that isn't wrapped around his.</p>
<p>"Why are you acting like we shouldn't want you?" she asks softly.</p>
<p>The knot feels tighter than ever when Quentin looks up at them, and then slowly, hesitantly, it starts to unravel. "With my other pack," he starts, only just managing not to mumble, "the bond, um... didn't work for me. I mean, I could feel it, I knew I was connected to the others, but I couldn't... use it." He's not sure if Margo realizes she's gently squeezing his fingers, but it's nice, in a grounding sort of way. He's careful to keep his hand still as he goes on.</p>
<p>"Nobody ever heard me, and... after a while, I couldn't hear them either. I thought I just had to try harder, or practice, or— or <i>something</i>, but I just— I couldn't. Nothing worked."</p>
<p>"But I—" Eliot starts, too loud, and cuts off to try again, quieter. "I've heard you," he says, almost carefully, "and I know you've heard both of us."</p>
<p>"It's... different here," Quentin says, groping around for the words, suddenly determined to make sure they understand. "It's completely— it's like I don't even have to try. Even when nobody's talking, I can feel it so easily, like all of you are just— <i>there</i>."</p>
<p>He swallows hard and looks down at his hand, watching Margo's fingers stoking over the back of it - no claws, just chipped nail polish. "But, um. I'm not sure how to stop feeling like... like I'm caught between clinging as hard as I can so it doesn't slip away, or— letting it go, so I'm prepared when it inevitably does." He feels his lips twitch, but isn't sure if he's trying to smile or grimace. "Sometimes I want to just— turn it off myself, and get it over with."</p>
<p>Margo's hand pauses on his, and her brows are pinched when he glances up at her. "That's not how the bond works."</p>
<p>"It happened before," Quentin says tiredly. "What's stopping it from happening again?"</p>
<p>"We are," Margo insists. "Look, your packmates should have made more of an effort to help you, back then. That's what pack <i>means</i>, Q. It's a two-way street, both sides have to put in the work."</p>
<p>"But they did, they tried," Quentin says, the words starting to catch in his throat again. "The problem was me. No matter how hard I pushed, I just couldn't— break through whatever stupid barrier kept me from— from being one of them."</p>
<p>Eliot is shaking his head before he even finishes speaking. "You were one of them the moment you joined their pack, Q."</p>
<p>Quentin almost wants to laugh. "No, I wasn't. I never fit there, I was— broken, I proved it over and over." He looks down again, nearly managing a wry smile. "I can't really blame them for giving up on me."</p>
<p>"I sure fuckin' can," Margo says, suddenly fierce again, almost as sharp as she was with Ess. "If anyone is supposed to be on your side, never giving up, end-of-the-world shit, it's your pack. The initiation is a contract. The wolves you enter into that bond with are not supposed to give up on you, ever."</p>
<p>Mouth twisting, Quentin swallows again. "But after the bond stopped—"</p>
<p>"It doesn't matter. They broke their word." Margo pulls his hand into her lap, drawing his eyes up to hers. "Even if we couldn't hear you through the bond, or feel you at all - you're still one of us, Quentin. We chose you." She searches his face for a moment, then goes on, softer. "And you chose us, right?"</p>
<p>He did, didn't he? Or Julia did, and he went along with it - but that doesn't feel right. There was definitely a part of him that wanted... something, a connection, even if it didn't last.</p>
<p>"I… yeah, but…" He trails off, throat tight, and watches Margo and Eliot glance at each other before he drops his gaze again.</p>
<p>"Okay, listen," Margo says, sighing it out. She curls her legs up on the bed, shifting to face him, and holds his hand between both of hers. Quentin wonders if she can feel his pulse through it, or the tremor working its way out from his chest.</p>
<p>"When I was bitten," she starts, "I was seventeen." Her voice is quiet, not halting, exactly, but as hesitant as he's ever heard her, like she's thinking through each word before letting it into her mouth. "I had some issues. I'd gotten into things over my head before, but... not like that. And I was stupid enough to think I was still Daddy's little girl, and that he would help. Instead, he wanted me to hide, so no one would ever find out what his darling daughter turned out to be."</p>
<p>Quentin can almost hear her mocking smile, can feel the brief flex in her fingers before she sighs again. "So I left, obviously. I channeled <i>Prison Break</i> Wentworth Miller and never looked back. I got myself here, to this place, with these people. <i>I</i> did that. It was really fucking hard sometimes, but I did it."</p>
<p>She ducks her head just enough to catch Quentin's eye. "And now you're here too," she says, not letting him look away. "I know I told you before that everything you came from doesn't matter. But the truth is it does, because that's what got us here. It's what made me fight for all of this. It's what made the others choose to stay. And it's what brought you to us."</p>
<p>Lifting one hand to Quentin's face again, she gently tucks his hair behind his ear. The smile she gives him is soft but her gaze is determined, almost fierce. "You don't have to prove yourself worthy to have a place here," she tells him, quiet but firm. "You've already got it. And if your other pack didn't think so, then they didn't deserve you."</p>
<p>Quentin is sure she must be able to feel him trembling now. His jaw is clamped so tightly shut it's aching a little, but if he opens his mouth his teeth are bound to chatter with it, or all the words jumbled up under his tongue will slip out in the wrong order. But Margo seems to understand anyway.</p>
<p>"I'm not going to force your guard down," she says, "but you're safe here. And I guarantee I've seen enough shit that anything you think you need to hide is not gonna matter. To any of us." Almost unbidden, Quentin catches himself glancing past her, over her shoulder to Eliot, and back again before their eyes can lock. "You can trust us," Margo says, squeezing his fingers. "That's what our bond is built on. That's what you're connected to."</p>
<p>"I do trust you," Quentin manages to croak, almost surprised by how much he means it. Had he ever felt this with the other pack? Had they ever opened up enough to make him think about it? Or was it pointless to even consider once he proved how defective he was? He closes his stinging eyes and takes a shivery breath. "I know I'm connected, but... I don't know how to not feel like I'm going to— break it. Like this is just— like this is how it is for me, and this is how it's always going to go." The words scrape together on their way out, his voice wavering. "What if I ruin it again?"</p>
<p>"You won't," Margo insists. She strokes his hair back again, smiling when he glances up at her. "Trust me on that, Q. You're part of this. You belong here."</p>
<p>"I want to," Quentin admits softly. God, he wants it so bad that almost hurts to think about. He remembers feeling it hang in the air the night he and Julia were brought in - it had seemed so close, then. Maybe it still is. "I want to believe that."</p>
<p>Margo watches him for a moment, something warm and almost approving in her look. "Then we'll keep telling you until you do," she says simply.</p>
<p>Quentin nods, trying to duck his head, but there's something buoying in his chest suddenly, something light and steady and— hopeful, maybe. With one last squeeze of his fingers Margo lets him go and starts to shimmy her way up the bed.</p>
<p>"So next time I beat somebody up on your behalf, don't try to tell me they didn't deserve it," she says with a playful glare, and then spreads out on her back. "Now come here, both of you."</p>
<p>She flaps her hands at him and Eliot, calling them to lie down with her. Quentin isn't sure of it at first, but Eliot goes easily. Seeing him flop down in the sheets calls up all of Quentin's exhaustion at once, the aftermath of adrenaline and dragging so many things up from so deep within him, and suddenly, going all the way to his own bed in the attic seems pointless. Especially when it would mean pulling himself out of this orbit, he decides, watching Margo wind her fingers around Eliot's, watching both of them look over at him. Definitely more trouble than it's worth.</p>
<p>He kicks off his shoes and socks and lets Eliot talk him into taking off the sweater ("You can't sleep in that, Q, you'll stretch it out, just let me—") before he finally gives into Margo dragging him down beside her. Eliot settles on her other side, and it's— pretty comfortable, actually, and <i>warm</i>, even without any blankets over the three of them.</p>
<p>Margo immediately shuts her eyes and sighs contentedly, and Quentin spends about ten seconds thinking she's managed to pass out already before she suddenly frowns and sits up. "I'm gonna shower, I still feel furry," she grumbles, making a face as she slides off the end of the bed. Quentin turns over to watch her disappear into the en suite, and a few seconds later a quiet rush of running water fills the room, softening the silence.</p>
<p>It's not until he settles back down that Quentin realizes it's just him and Eliot on the bed now, staring at each other across Margo's vacated spot - or they would be, if Eliot's eyes were open, but they're not.</p>
<p>Quentin takes him in - his head on his curled arm, his free hand resting on the sheets, his styled curls now mussed and falling into his face. His loosened collar and rolled-up sleeves. His vest is hung up across the room with his coat and tie and Quentin's sweater, the reds matching. Quentin wonders if it looked that nice when they were standing together on the terrace before the whole mess the night turned into, if people noticed—</p>
<p>"Q?" Eliot's voice is soft under the hush of the shower, almost casual, but his eyes are still shut when Quentin looks back at him. "Can I ask you something?"</p>
<p>Quentin curls up a little, tucking his arms against his chest. The gap between them really isn't that wide. "Yeah, what?"</p>
<p>"That first night, after we brought you in," Eliot says, gesturing slightly with the tips of his fingers, "when you asked me about the bond, if you could make it work... was that—"</p>
<p>"Kind of the first time I got through to someone other than Julia?" Quentin finishes, cringing. "Yeah. Um. Sorry for, like, leaving that part out."</p>
<p>"No, it's fine," Eliot assures him. "I'm actually… is it bad if I'm almost relieved?" He does open his eyes then, and gives Quentin a curious look that he returns blankly. "Of course it's, you know, fucked up and terrible that you were cut off from your pack, but I can't help being sort of… selfishly glad, I guess, that you <i>are</i> able to feel it with us."</p>
<p>It takes Quentin a moment to decide if it's appropriate to feel gratified by that. Probably not, but it settles warm in his chest anyway. By the time he realizes Eliot is waiting for a response, he's already raising a careful eyebrow at him, like he's ready to backtrack. "Or are you still not ready to be angry?" he asks, tentative.</p>
<p>"I don't know," Quentin admits, pushing his hair out of his face. "I think you and Margo are mad enough for all three of us."</p>
<p>"Your contribution would still be appreciated."</p>
<p>Quentin huffs a tired laugh. Maybe he's right, maybe now there's a spark he could wring out, some flare of indignance to call up - but trying to overlay that emotion with his memories of the pack doesn't feel right. Even the worst ones just make something inside him twist uncomfortably. "It wasn't really their fault," he says quietly, curling up a little further. "Not entirely."</p>
<p>Eliot furrows his brow. "It wasn't yours, either, Q."</p>
<p>But Quentin just shrugs, or as much as he can while lying on his side. "I just mean— there's always been this... thing, this feeling I have. I guess maybe it's related to depression, since I learned pretty fast that lycanthropy doesn't cure that," he says dryly, brushing his hair back again. "But even before I was bitten, I was, um. I just felt... outside of things. Like there was something I just— wasn't getting, that everyone else had down."</p>
<p>Looking at Eliot's hand on the sheets is suddenly much easier than meeting his eye, for some reason. "Part of me thought that— it's not the only reason I did it, obviously, but becoming a wolf… I thought maybe that was the missing piece, the thing I was waiting for. I thought it would fix things. And then it didn't." He shrugs again, halfheartedly. "And I know it's stupid to feel lonely in your own pack, even with the bond and everything, I get it, but— that's just how it is."</p>
<p>He pauses, blinking at Eliot's curled knuckles. "How it was, I mean."</p>
<p>"Because it's different here?" Eliot prompts.</p>
<p>Quentin nods against the sheets, feeling warm again. "This is… it's like— for once, it feels like I could maybe get away from that, the— the loneliness," he explains haltingly. "But there's still something— I don't know, something inside me that keeps insisting... it won't last, and that I'll end up back where I started, on the outside again."</p>
<p>"You don't have to worry about that," Eliot says, sliding his hand across the gap to brush his fingers against Quentin's elbow. "Not with us."</p>
<p>"I know," Quentin says, eyes following the line of his arm up to his shoulder. "Really, I— I <i>know</i> that, but I'm still <i>me</i>, and I… I don't think it's as easy as just, you know, saying 'oh, right, that's dumb', and letting go of it. Not when it's been a constant for so long."</p>
<p>He pauses, imagining the words settling between them, and feels a flare of determination to push them away. "But I'm trying," he says quietly, and catches Eliot's gaze before he can remember why he was avoiding it. "I want to try. I want to feel like— like I belong here with you. All of you."</p>
<p>Eliot smiles at him, stroking his fingers lightly across his arm. "You've got time," he murmurs. "We're not going anywhere. And neither are you. When Margo chooses someone, she doesn't like to let them go."</p>
<p>Quentin nods sheepishly, relaxing a little as he uncrosses his arms. "Yeah, um. I think she made that pretty clear."</p>
<p>"And it's not just her," Eliot tells him. "The rest of the pack is just as stubborn. I mean, there's no way Julia would let you fall behind, not after all this." His hand slides down to Quentins wrist and pauses there. "And I swore I'd make a city wolf out of you one way or another," he adds, soft like an afterthought.</p>
<p>"Did you?" Quentin asks, mostly distracted by how warm Eliot's palm is against his skin. On impulse, he turns his hand over, and watches Eliot's lips twitch as he curls their fingers together. "I don't remember that."</p>
<p>"Well, I'm swearing it now," Eliot decides. "So you <i>really</i> can't go anywhere."</p>
<p>His thumb brushes across Quentin's knuckles. Quentin feels it all the way up his arm. "I won't."</p>
<p>The touch lingers until Margo comes back, wrapped in towels with her hair still dripping, to reclaim her spot between them. Quentin feels a weird impulse to grab Eliot's hand back as soon as he lets go, but he's distracted from it when Margo flops down next to him. She's warm and sweet-smelling, burrowing drowsily into Eliot's chest, but she also gropes around behind her for Quentin's hand and surprises him by dragging his arm over her waist to pull him closer.</p>
<p>Pressed against her, Quentin can't see Eliot stifling laughter, but he can feel it - every small movement amplified, from their knocking knees to Margo's pleased sigh to Eliot draping his arm across both her and Quentin. Or maybe he only means to cover Margo, but they're so close together that his wrist ends up slung over Quentin's hip, and then he just leaves it there. And didn't one of them say, way back on that first night, that cuddling was good for the bond? Maybe those weren't the exact words, but it's nice either way - Margo's hand linked with his, and Eliot's arm casing them in.</p>
<p>Quentin stays up for a while just revelling in the closeness, in the contented hum he feels in his mind from the two of them, until the warmth of it draws him down into sleep.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>In the end it’s Margo that tells Julia about the events of Lunar Council, when she gathers the pack together the next morning to relay a general update. Quentin isn't sure how much Julia really retains of it, let alone Kady, considering the two of them only returned from the Midsummer ritual after the sun rose. Covered in paint and colourful ashes, they were leaning on each other with exhausted laughter as they came up the stairs - which Quentin was only awake for because Eliot got up early to start breakfast, and his slipping out of bed woke Quentin and Margo up just enough to remember that they were wearing jeans and a towel, respectively, and after curling up together to lament this for a bit, they both got up too.<p>So Margo tells them everything, from the roundtable and the Beast to the drama with Todd and Ess. Penny laments that he didn't go with them to see her kick someone's ass, and Josh agrees, and so does Alice, albeit a little quietly. Quentin finds it's a lot easier to talk about the Beast when he knows it's coming, and even Julia doesn't seem too troubled by it - but that might be because Margo focuses way more on the wolves that are willing to help keep an eye out than the wolves like Ess who don't see a problem.</p>
<p>Either way, the bases are pretty thoroughly covered, so when Julia asks for his version afterwards, Quentin doesn't think he'll have much to say. But he sits on her bed while she's in the shower and tries to think of what stuck out to him, and does come up with a few things.</p>
<p>He tells her about the weird waterfront lodge, and the moon on the water, and all the wolves he can remember Eliot greeting. About the look in Margo’s eyes that was still recognizable in her wolf form, and how nobody dared to try stopping her. He doesn’t tell her what Margo said to him about choices, or how he could leave if he wanted, or how fiercely she insisted that Quentin was part of her story now. He also doesn’t mention worth, or missing pieces, or how Eliot's arm felt across his waist. But he does tell her she was right.</p>
<p>Julia has washed off most of the paint and ashes and other spell components, but she still smells a little like campfire and grass, and like Kady, just a bit. She doesn't ask what she's right about, but from the way she smiles at him and pulls him down next to her, he thinks she must know already.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey! this chapter is a little shorter than the others as it marks the End Of The First Arc sort of. for the 100000th time thank you SO much for all the excitement and enthusiasm about this story, we're having an emotional time :'| who wouldve thought werewolfs.doc would end up here. not me anyway THAnks lets get into it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Here he comes, Q. Just ask.</i>
</p>
<p><i>This was your idea,</i> Quentin insists, shooting Julia a halfhearted glare. <i>You should be the one asking. He likes you better than me, anyway.</i></p>
<p>Julia twirls her straw innocently, but her voice keeps prodding at him, gently pestering. <i>Come on, you want to know too, don't you?</i> She nudges his barstool with her foot. <i>And you're closer.</i></p>
<p>Quentin does his best to convey a long-suffering sigh through the bond and takes a deep breath.</p>
<p>"Hey, um," he starts, hoping it sounds casual as he looks away from Julia's encouraging nod over to Penny, across the bar counter. "Can I ask you— we were just—"</p>
<p>"Freaking out about the new moon?" Penny cuts in, barely glancing up from the bottles he came down the counter for. He meets Julia's playful scowl with a laugh, though. "Hey, if you're trying to be subtle, worry quieter. I could hear it as soon as you came down here."</p>
<p>"We're not freaking out," Quentin grumbles, feeling his cheeks flush. He hadn't really even thought about the new moon until the night before, when he noticed the bright crescent he'd gotten used to seeing out the window was slimmed down to a sliver. Keeping track of what night the <i>full</i> moon would land on was no problem, but everything between waning gibbous and the first quarter always kind of smudged together in his mind - including, apparently, the one night in each cycle where the moon disappears from the sky altogether and leaves them at their weakest.</p>
<p>So it snuck up on him, is all. He wasn't even that worried about it until Julia brought it up after breakfast, and they both realized at the same time that they had no idea what the night of the new moon actually entailed here, at Haven. Or at least, no idea beyond the tapering of all their senses back to less-than-wolfish levels. And maybe he started to get a little stressed the more he thought about it, and maybe he was a <i>tad</i> jittery as he and Julia came downstairs to the bar, but—</p>
<p>"Who's freaking out?" Quentin snaps back to himself as a hand slides across his shoulders and Eliot leans past him to fish out a glass from under the counter. He presses so close for a moment that Quentin forgets to be indignant, until the badly-hidden amusement in Eliot's politely curious expression reminds him.</p>
<p>"Nobody," he huffs, but Eliot just pats his shoulder consolingly, unfazed by his annoyance. Quentin pretends he can't see the grin Eliot is biting back, and hopes Eliot will do the same for the frown he's fighting to keep on his face.</p>
<p>"We're just wondering what the plan is, for tonight," Julia explains, rolling her eyes at them before turning to Penny again. "All we really have to go on is what our other pack used to do, but…" She pauses to grimace. "I can't really imagine there being much overlap."</p>
<p>Raising his eyebrows, Penny fully abandons whatever drink he was making to lean his elbows on the counter across from her. "Why, did your alpha have you camping out in the woods for the night?"</p>
<p>"If only," Quentin mutters wryly, and even Julia sighs a little, wistful. "No, he had this sort of… midnight track meet thing he'd have us do."</p>
<p>Penny makes a face. "For what, like, playing sports?"</p>
<p>"Oh, god," Eliot says with a pained grimace, clutching his chest dramatically. "Quentin, tell me you didn't."</p>
<p>"What? No," Quentin huffs again, but it's a struggle to keep from smiling. "It wasn't like we had a soccer team, or something. He was just into, like— endurance training, I guess? We'd do all these exercises and meditations... Sometimes we'd go hunting, too, but it was basically impossible without the moon." Even when they skipped that particular waste of time, the whole night was never much fun for him, not with the added bonus of the blank, dark sky making him feel weak and clumsy. It really didn't seem that fun for the others either, but Quentin was never quite brave enough to try and start up any sort of spite-fuelled camaraderie about it. "It just— I don't know. It sucked."</p>
<p>Julia taps her foot against his stool again. "I think it was probably better in theory," she says with a hum. "Corrigan wanted us to be prepared in case there was ever a threat while we weren't at full strength."</p>
<p>"Ah," Eliot sighs, sharing a knowing look with Penny. "One of <i>those</i>."</p>
<p>"Some packs go really hard for the hyper-vigilance thing," Penny explains, rolling his eyes. "That whole 'can't be too careful, better get jacked' mindset. I think their alphas are just uptight about not being able to shift during the moon."</p>
<p>"On the other hand," Eliot says loftily, "some packs, like ours, treat the new moon more like a night off. If we all have to pretend to be human for the evening, we might as well relax."</p>
<p>"It's a bit more than pretending," Quentin mumbles. He's already not looking forward to the weakness that's bound to start in his limbs, the muting of all his senses, the dulling of reflexes and reaction time... and the pack bond will be affected too, fading out to nothing— but he's been purposefully avoiding thinking about that, so he pushes it away again.</p>
<p>"Method acting, then," Eliot amends, waving a hand. "Either way, we definitely do not endorse sports here, no matter what Josh says about that one scene in <i>Twilight</i>. And speaking of—" He turns to squint around the bar, frowning. "Where <i>is</i> Josh? I called him down here like, twenty minutes ago. I swear, if he's upstairs redoing the summer menu <i>again</i>—"</p>
<p>"We'll go get him," Julia cuts in, sliding off her barstool. "Come on, Q."</p>
<p>Quentin doesn't think that it really needs to be a two-person job, but he catches sight of the worried crease between her brows and slips out from under Eliot's hand to let her tug him along. He's pretty sure he can feel both his and Penny's eyes on them as they go.</p>
<p>"Sorry," Julia says once they're in the back hall, pausing by the foot of the stairs and letting out a breath. "I just… needed a minute."</p>
<p>"Are you okay?" Quentin asks, searching her face while she looks down. She seems more uncomfortable than anything, crossing her arms over her chest.</p>
<p>"I think I'm kind of nervous," she admits quietly. "For the new moon, I mean. I know we've done it before, we know what it feels like, but... I thought that about the full moon too, and that was…"</p>
<p>"Right." Quentin frowns, remembering her pale face and pinched expression. "Yeah, not great." He can remember the way his own head throbbed too, but the echo of pain makes it hazy to look back on - except for the parts where Eliot was sitting with him, which are a lot clearer than the rest. "Do you think that it'll happen again? The headache?"</p>
<p>"Well, the way Margo explained it, whatever wasn't quite fitting ended up fixing itself along the way. So no, I guess not." Julia pauses, brow furrowed for a moment, then shakes her head, huffing almost wryly. "Part of me is just worried that— after the new moon, the bond won't come back." She glances up at Quentin with a weak smile. "Is that dumb?"</p>
<p>Heart clenching, Quentin reaches for her hand without thinking, and she lets him take it. As hard as he had been trying not to think about the bond, he's definitely had the same worry quietly pawing at him all day. Hearing her say it out loud is actually a relief, a reminder that he hasn't gone through any of this alone. "If it is, then we're both idiots," he says.</p>
<p>Julia smiles at that, a <i>real</i> smile, and the tension in her unwinds. "We'll still be together either way, right?" she says softly.</p>
<p>Nodding, Quentin squeezes her fingers, and follows easily when she turns to start up the stairs.</p>
<p>He has to admit the timing of the whole thing kind of sucks, though. After spending days and days full of dread about the pack bond - waiting for it to waver, bracing for the tremor that never came - he finally managed to reach a point of— well, maybe not <i>certainty</i> with it, but contentment. Comfort. And within a week the new moon manages to throw it all off balance.</p>
<p>At least he didn't spend half the week stressed out, anticipating it. Quentin is almost sort of glad he wasn't keeping track of the moon cycle, if only just for how he's managed to avoid giving his brain a chance to do a nosedive about it. He's been through that before, and he thinks he might honestly prefer the headache.</p>
<p>But he's here now, and it's different, isn't it? He resolves to keep a tight hold of the hope that's taken up residence in his chest, not as light and floaty as it was a few nights ago, but still there, reminding him of what he wants. As long as he has that, he knows he's connected to something.</p>
<p>It's definitely easier thought about than done, though. As the sun goes down and Quentin starts to feel weaker, he's mostly distracted from his steady drop in energy by the creeping loss of sensation in his mind. It's not the sudden, almost sharp quiet it was when he was forcibly cut off from the bond, but gradual, like a thick muffling blanket being slowly lowered over him until the hum of the bond goes still and silent.</p>
<p>It doesn't hurt, at least. It's not painfully empty, and there's no ragged wound, it's just— quiet. Eerie, almost. It makes him uneasy more than anything, but he doesn't realize quite how much until Margo calls everyone up to the loft - literally calls them, out loud from the top of the stairs - and as they gather in the little den, Quentin feels something wound tight within him start to loosen. </p>
<p>He knew the others were still there, obviously, but actually seeing them, feeling their presence physically, watching them settle in together and knowing that they're all feeling the same thing he is... it's more of a relief than he expected.</p>
<p>At first he thought 'a night off' might just mean everyone keeping to themselves, but the actual plan for the evening dawns on him as Alice clears off the coffee table and Josh sets down a long flat box - "Board games?"</p>
<p>"We have an important opportunity to take advantage of," Kady says, tugging both him and Julia down to sit on the floor. "It's the one night a month that Penny can't cheat by mind-reading." Penny rolls his eyes as he sits across from them, but doesn't deny anything.</p>
<p>"How much does that help in Monopoly?" Quentin asks as Alice unfolds the board.</p>
<p>She gives him a tired look. "You'd be surprised."</p>
<p>After a brief debate over who gets to be the tiny silver dog piece, they all settle around the table to roll the dice. Eliot demands to be the banker even though he's not actually playing, lounging on the couch behind them with Margo instead while she paints her toenails, using him as a footrest. Quentin catches him feeding fifties into Alice's money pile more than once, but doesn't say anything - mostly because Margo slips him a hundred while she's waiting for a coat to dry. </p>
<p>Once Josh bankrupts him, Kady, and Penny in one round, the game rapidly devolves, and they end up swapping the board for a deck of cards and spreading out on the floor to play poker, betting with Monopoly money. Julia warns the others about playing cards with Quentin, but he puts on an innocent enough face that they don't kick him for cheating until halfway through the third game.</p>
<p>Margo pulls him up onto the couch between her and Eliot, looking delightedly taken aback. "Who are you and what have you done with our Q?"</p>
<p>Quentin grins sheepishly as he fishes a jack out of his sleeve and tosses it at Julia, who quietly adds it to her hand. "I guess I'm full of surprises?"</p>
<p>"I'll say." Margo reaches up to ruffle his hair and laughs when he bats her hand away. "I knew I picked you for more than just your pretty face," she coos.</p>
<p>"Very entertaining," Eliot agrees with a smirk, laying his arm over the back of the couch, brushing Quentin's shoulders. "You should show off more often, Q."</p>
<p>Their praise sends a pleased little thrill down Quentin's spine. He fights the ridiculous giddy smile he can feel coming on, clearing his throat instead and gesturing vaguely at the table strewn with abandoned game pieces. "So is— is this what you guys always do? Board games?"</p>
<p>Margo shrugs, still flicking the ends of his hair. "Sometimes. Last month was movie night. We've done spa night before, too." She pauses to glance at Eliot. "We should bring that back, actually. I could use a clay mask."</p>
<p>"And there's never been any... problems?" Quentin asks haltingly, wincing when Margo gives him a questioning look. "Like— not to be paranoid, but... is there a plan for if anyone actually does try to— you know." He swallows. "Take advantage?"</p>
<p>Kady snorts, glancing up at the couch. "Hey, if anyone's allowed to be paranoid about that, it's you."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't worry about it," Josh says easily, dealing out another round. "Any wolf that has a bone to pick is in the same boat as us tonight, fully human-shaped."</p>
<p>"And for anyone else, there's the runes downstairs," Kady adds. "That magic isn't affected by the moon. We're pretty secure."</p>
<p>"And Margo has a gun," Penny says, without looking up from his hand.</p>
<p>Quentin blinks at him, then at Margo. "You— what, like, an actual gun?"</p>
<p>"Sometimes supernaturalism is pretentious," Margo explains with a sigh, waving a careless hand, "and sometimes the best answer is the simplest one. Here being a Glock."</p>
<p>"With silver bullets?"</p>
<p>"That's a myth," Alice puts in, daintily laying down a full house and receiving a flutter of tossed cards in return.</p>
<p>"The point is, we're safe here," Margo says, tugging Quentin's hair gently. "You don't need to worry about that tonight. We're supposed to be relaxing, remember?" She unfolds her legs and drops her feet in his lap, prodding Eliot with one newly sparkling toe. "Come on, El. Tell him one of your bedtime stories, or whatever."</p>
<p>Quentin immediately perks up and turns to face him eagerly. He'd finished his first careful pass through Alice's book of legends the week before, and was waiting for some of the details to get fuzzy before he started it again - but a story from Eliot might be something entirely new. He makes an attempt to school his expression into something less embarrassingly over-excited about the idea, but Eliot just smiles, undoubtedly seeing right through him.</p>
<p>"Fine," he sighs, putting on a long-suffering air even as he straightens up and clears his throat. "Gather 'round, children. Uncle Eliot has the perfect tale."</p>
<p>"About the new moon?" Julia asks, sounding curious even as she trades half her hand for Kady's.</p>
<p>Eliot shrugs easily. "Well, it was <i>going</i> to be about Jodie Foster's award-winning performance in <i>Panic Room</i>, but I can switch gears." He turns to raise an eyebrow at Quentin. "Do you know how the first new moon happened?"</p>
<p>Quentin squints at him. "Like… cosmically?"</p>
<p>"Mythically," Eliot corrects, smirking. "How it came to have the effect that it does on wolves."</p>
<p>"Oh. I don't think so."</p>
<p>"Really? That one's definitely in Alice's book," Margo says, frowning at Quentin. "Weren't you reading it a couple weeks ago? <i>The Witch and the Wolf</i>?"</p>
<p>Quentin makes a face. "The love triangle one? I thought that was just about why there's so much bad blood."</p>
<p>Eliot snickers at him. "Were you really so annoyed that you never finished it?"</p>
<p>"I— well..." He <i>was</i> pretty annoyed about it, before Eliot and Margo distracted him. Come to think of it, he can't remember ever going back to get past the first few pages. "I guess so?"</p>
<p>"Then allow me to save you the trouble." Eliot clears his throat again, and a hush falls over the whole den as even the group on the floor abandon their cards to listen. He settles easily into the storytelling tone that Quentin remembers from between hazy, headachey bits of the full moon, and takes a breath.</p>
<p>"<i>A long time ago, in a faraway wood, there was a Witch, and there was a Wolf. They had grown up together, as close as brothers - the Wolf made sure his friend’s coven was well protected, and the Witch conjured helpful spells for the pack. But in a way, they were their own pack, just the two of them. There was a spark lit between them that had drawn them together all their lives.</i></p>
<p>"<i>One night, while the two friends were exploring the forest, they happened upon another witch, a young Sorceress. She wove spells with night-blooming flowers, seeming to enchant the moonlight itself. Both the wolf and his friend were captivated. When she saw them watching, the Sorceress invited them closer, to sit with her while she spun magic all around them. The Witch added his own spells here and there, and the Wolf howled to the moon to keep it shining down on the three of them as they laughed and played together. When the sun started to rise, the Sorceress had to return home, but she asked the Witch and the Wolf to meet her again the next night. They both readily agreed, and on their own way home the two friends fawned over her beauty, her open heart, and her soft laughter, recounting to each other all the moments she seemed most dazzling. They joked about love at first sight and the new stirrings they felt in each of their hearts.</i></p>
<p>"<i>But for the first time, the Witch and the Wolf each held back a secret. Both were certain they were in love with the Sorceress and didn’t want the other getting in the way. Something foul had started to sprout between them. A rivalry, not like their childhood games or friendly contests, but deeper, darker, rooted in what should have been pure and joyful but was instead soured by envy. And it was only a matter of time before it bloomed.</i>"</p>
<p>"Not ominous at all," Penny mutters, but both Kady and Julia hush him. Eliot presses his lips together for a moment, but manages to keep his lofty expression from cracking.</p>
<p>"<i>They returned to the Sorceress the next night, and the next, and the next, until there came a night when the Sorceress told them to meet her again not tomorrow, but the night after. The Moon had been slowly turning away to rest, she explained, and the flowers she loved had less and less light to blossom in. Tomorrow night the Moon would be fully turned, and it would be so dark that the small buds wouldn’t open at all. All three agreed to come back together when the Moon awoke and returned the next day.</i></p>
<p>"<i>On that darkest night, however, the Wolf saw the Witch sneaking away into the woods. Suspicious, he followed as the Witch took the same path they always used to get to the Sorceress’s clearing. The Wolf watched with mounting dismay as the Sorceress stepped through the trees and joined the Witch there in the dark. Disappointment quickly boiled over into resentment, and the Wolf leapt into the clearing to confront them about their deception. The Witch was angry at having been followed, the Sorceress insisting the secret meeting was not what it seemed - but their betrayal stung the Wolf too badly to hear any excuse, and soon he and the Witch were at each other’s throats.</i></p>
<p>"<i>The Sorceress begged them to stop, but neither would back down. To settle it once and for all, they told her, agreeing for the final time, she would have to choose between them - but she refused. She loved them both. To choose one over the other would be to betray herself as well as both of them. To their high tempers, though, her soft words weren’t good enough. They decided that if she wouldn’t choose, they would make the decision for her. They would duel. The winner would take his prize—</i>"</p>
<p>"Yikes," Josh says, grimacing.</p>
<p>"Yeah, don't love that," Margo agrees, and Quentin stifles a laugh as she meets Eliot's exasperated look with a frown. "What? I know this is a thousand years ago or whatever, but it shouldn't be that hard to—"</p>
<p>"Okay, the winner would ask for her extremely consensual hand in marriage, which she was definitely allowed to turn down," Eliot says, rolling his eyes, and waits for Margo's satisfied nod before continuing. "And the loser would yield, or die."</p>
<p>Josh makes another face, exaggeratedly tugging his collar, but Eliot keeps going before anyone else can interrupt.</p>
<p>"<i>As they stood across the clearing, poised to fight, to cast, to pounce - for a moment they saw in each other the spark that had always flared between them, years-old and familiar. They felt it flickering as they stared each other down and both wondered, for a split second, when it had gotten so weak. But the sour thing that had started growing in the dark pushed the spark aside, and the fight began.</i></p>
<p>"<i>The Sorceress watched from the trees, wishing she could turn away like the Moon had. Her two loves had become unrecognizable, just blood and magic and snapping teeth. There was an unexpected rhythm in it, a push and pull that the two friends had been missing while the rift grew between them. It almost felt like a game, like a return to their early untroubled friendship. But only for a moment, and then it was over.</i></p>
<p>"<i>The Wolf stood upright and howling, and the Witch was silent at his feet. All at once the sourness evaporated, leaving only the smoking wick of the flame he’d put out. It didn't feel triumphant. He wanted to take it back. The Sorceress, horrified at the death, at the killing committed in her name, gathered all the magic she had once used to make the moonlight shimmer around the three of them, and cursed the Wolf. She withered him down into just a man, weak and blind in the dark, and left him there in the woods.</i>"</p>
<p>"Good for her," Alice murmurs absently. She looks up when Penny gives her a weird look. "What? He killed her boyfriend."</p>
<p>"They were <i>both</i> her boyfriends," Margo points out, gesturing with a nail file. "Or they should've been. That's why Q hates this story so much."</p>
<p>Quentin frowns at her. "I do not."</p>
<p>"So maybe it's a little harsh," Josh says with a shrug. "The price of revenge is a great moral quandary, though. Classic story beat."</p>
<p>"Yeah, until she <i>dies</i>," Kady scoffs. "From using up all her magic, or a broken heart, or whatever it is."</p>
<p>"Are you serious?" Quentin asks, not sure if he's more angry or incredulous. Maybe he really does hate this one. "Like, some <i>Revenge of the Sith</i> bullshit?"</p>
<p>Eliot turns to him with a placating look, moving his hand from the back of the couch to brush over Quentin's shoulder. "Want me to skip that part?"</p>
<p>Quentin wants to huff about it a bit more, actually, but his outrage seems to dissolve at the touch. "Kind of, yeah," he tries to grumble, though it comes out a little sheepish when he looks up at Eliot.</p>
<p>"Alright, the Sorceress leaves him in the woods and is never seen again," Eliot says easily, turning back to the others. "Let's move on. Where were we?"</p>
<p>"My guy got reverse-Animorphed," Josh supplies.</p>
<p>Eliot gives him a nod of thanks. "Right. So. <i>When the Moon returned the next night, a slim crescent rising over him, the Wolf could barely look up. The Moon saw what he had done, but she also saw his regret, and decided that enough death had taken place in her absence.</i></p>
<p>"<i>She restored the Wolf to his true form - but she couldn't lift the curse, not entirely. Every time the Moon disappeared from the sky he would wither again, human for the night. That magic remained inside him, held in place if not by the Sorceress’ power, then by the Wolf’s own broken heart.</i>"</p>
<p>"Kind of a downer at the end, there," Julia says after a beat of silence.</p>
<p>Quentin grimaces in agreement, feeling almost glad that he didn't get around to reading it. "I'm surprised the moon let him off so easy, though."</p>
<p>"Keep in mind this is the <i>werewolf</i> side of the story," Margo sighs, taking her feet out of his lap to curl up in the corner of the couch. "The witch side is obviously more about the brutal slaying of their ancestor by the rabid lust-crazed wolf. But I like to think ours is more accurate."</p>
<p>"I think I've heard it with a different ending," Josh says, leaning back on his palms. "The sorceress is revealed to be evil, or something, and it turns out she staged the whole friendship-breakup."</p>
<p>"I've seen a version where the sorceress and the moon are the same character," Alice offers. "At the end, the wolf is so full of remorse that he asks for the curse to be placed on him."</p>
<p>"There's also a version where the witch is in love with the wolf," Margo says, twirling the nail file absently.</p>
<p>Quentin turns to her with raised eyebrows. "Really?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, it's kind of sad," she admits. "Like, the idea that the witch met up with the sorceress that night to explain or ask for help, but everybody gets the wrong idea…" She trails off for a moment, then shrugs. "And, you know, compulsory heterosexuality. So whatever."</p>
<p>"I just wanna know why <i>we're</i> the ones paying this guy's penance," Penny grumbles from where he's spreading out on the floor.</p>
<p>"Well, It's just a story," Alice points out. "If anything like this actually took place, the details probably aren't accurate."</p>
<p>"You say that like ancient werewolf authors knew anything about subtlety," Eliot deadpans. "Conversations held with the literal moon notwithstanding, I mean."</p>
<p>That sets off a whole new round of playful bickering, nearly everyone on Alice's side except Margo, who is decidedly staying out of it, and Penny, who clearly can't care less until Julia pouts at him. And Quentin, who's too captivated by the ease of it, the back and forth and crossways of the conversation, to worry about it one way or the other. Having that all around him, it feels... nice. It feels like he's connected, even without the bond thrumming between them. He was so scared of losing his grip on it, but— he's still here, wound up in the middle of this, with no desire to twist out of it.</p>
<p>It feels like— family, maybe. It's a little shocking how easily the word comes to mind, but Quentin lets it settle in him while the others laugh and argue. Lets the weight of it balance on the back of his tongue.</p>
<p>At twilight, when the sky is just barely beginning to fade into dawn, Margo ushers everyone outside to watch the sunrise. The courtyard is cold and the grass is dewy against Quentin's bare feet. He feels a little stronger already, and he knows the pack bond should come back any time now, but he can never remember exactly what it feels like when it does - whether it's gradual or all at once, soft or loud. So he just waits, standing a few paces apart from Julia's little huddle with Kady and Penny, and closes his eyes to focus.</p>
<p>It's hard to know what to focus <i>on</i> when he still can't feel anything, though. He ends up just listening, mostly, trying to filter out the muffled early morning noise that seeps into the courtyard from the city beyond - until a warm, distracting hand spreads across his shoulders.</p>
<p>"Tired?" Eliot asks, coming up beside him.</p>
<p>"Not really," Quentin sighs, rubbing his eyes for a moment before noticing Eliot's doubtful expression. "Well— okay, yeah, a little."</p>
<p>Eliot's hand slips away but he stays close, crossing his arms over his chest and just barely brushing against him. "Margo won't make you stay out here too long. Just enough to see the sun and debrief, then you can go to bed."</p>
<p>"It's just weird to actually, you know, get exhausted from staying up all night," Quentin says, squinting up at the slowly brightening sky. "In college it was basically my constant state of being. I was so stoked to be, like, even a <i>little</i> bit nocturnal, but I always crashed hard on the new moon." He glances up at Eliot, who's also watching the sky. "You don't seem tired at all."</p>
<p>"I've had a bit more practice than you," Eliot points out, smirking as he bumps their shoulders together, lowering his voice a little. "I've been dealing with this specific type of once-monthly fatigue my whole life, remember."</p>
<p>"Right," Quentin says weakly. He reels at the thought of how many moon cycles Eliot must have seen by now— hundreds more than Quentin has, in any case.</p>
<p>He's quiet for a moment, flexing his toes in the wet grass, watching the dew soak into his cuffs. "What was it like, in your other pack?" he asks softly, looking back at Eliot.</p>
<p>Eliot takes in and lets out a long breath, like he's thinking hard about it. "Like this, basically," he says eventually, voice still low. "Staying up all night, telling stories… actually, we were— waiting. Like that first wolf, in the legend," he explains, when Quentin furrows his brow, though Eliot doesn't look away from the pinkening sky. "We stayed up, keeping vigil for the moon that wouldn't appear. It was supposed to be to honour that incredibly distant uncle, or whatever he was."</p>
<p>"I like that idea," Quentin hums, following his gaze. "Like, the tradition of keeping vigil? It's nice."</p>
<p>"It wasn't so bad," Eliot allows, uncrossing his arms. "I had a lot of worse nights. And that story was one of the better ones."</p>
<p>Quentin figures that's about as glowing a review as Eliot can give. He catches himself leaning a little closer to him, just in case Eliot— shivers, or something, or wants to brush their shoulders together again.</p>
<p>At the same time, though, thinking about the first wolf pining for the moon makes Quentin feel weirdly wistful, almost like heartache when he compares it with the story Eliot told earlier. "There's kind of a running theme in these old legends, huh," he says quietly, looking down at the grass sparkling in the light. "Nobody really gets what they want."</p>
<p>"Well," Eliot says, after a moment - Quentin feels his hand curling warm around his shoulder again. "Some do."</p>
<p>The touch is comforting, grounding, and the tension leaks out of Quentin before he even realizes he'd been holding onto it. And maybe Eliot is right, maybe he'd been right about everything - if nothing else, maybe Quentin can just— let himself fit into this place. Maybe it's as easy as that.</p>
<p>The sky is fully pink and gold now, and the first rays of the sun are starting to peek out from over the rooftops surrounding the courtyard. Quentin can hear the others admiring it, murmuring to each other about the emerging reds, the painted clouds, the deep gradient falling over them. He watches Eliot instead.</p>
<p>There's a bright spot in his mind that he hadn't noticed settling back into place, the steady, unwavering presence that is his connection to Eliot. The others are there too, now, as if they'd never left at all. But Eliot is close, and his skin is the same gold as the sky - Quentin doesn't even need to look at the sunrise, he can watch it happen across Eliot's face, pick out all the colours reflected there.</p>
<p>He wonders if Eliot can see the same thing, when he turns away from the sun to catch Quentin's gaze. He wonders what he feels like in Eliot's mind, if he's as distinct as Eliot is to him. He wonders if Eliot can feel his heart beating when he pulls Quentin closer - smiling as he leads him over to the others, all laughing and crowing while the sun rises higher, buzzing pleasantly in his mind - or his shiver when Eliot lets him go.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the second arc begins :O in this chapter, quentin and julia have A Time.<br/>(PS. remember that canon-typical violence tag up there. yea. ok thanks)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You know," Quentin says around a mouthful of pretzel, "I'm starting to think this is a test."</p><p>The day is weirdly cool and cloudy for early summer, and while it was nice around midday when he and Julia were first sent out, in the hours since it's gotten almost cold. It took them most of the afternoon to find the tiny bakery in Crown Heights that their packmates had insisted they visit - pretty strongly, for how vague their directions were. He's glad they made it there eventually, and of course the scent of warm bread alone had been worth it, but even as good as their late lunch was, Quentin can't help wondering if he should've been a bit more suspicious of how quickly the others had shooed them out the door.</p><p>"A test of what?" Julia asks, half-laughing as they cross the street. "Perseverance to follow the terrible route Josh gave us, or our ability to resist carbs?"</p><p>"Maybe our sense of direction," Quentin says, balling up his napkin and glancing around. The pretzel had stolen most of his attention since they left the bakery, and he doesn't recognize any of the buildings around them anymore. "Since we have to find our way back, I mean. And— gotta be honest, I have no idea where we are."</p><p>Julia catches his hand to stop him from stepping off the curb, rolling her eyes playfully and tugging him around a corner instead. "I was thinking Margo just wanted us out of the house for a bit," she sighs. "Probably so they can set up for the party tonight."</p><p>Quentin frowns at her. "What party?"</p><p>"Oh— it's for us," Julia explains, waving her free hand. "Like an anniversary, a 'happy one moon cycle in the pack' type of thing. It's supposed to be a surprise," she adds, smiling guiltily, "but Penny let it slip accidentally last night."</p><p>"Okay," Quentin says slowly, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "I thought— weren't you out with Kady last night?" He's not sure if she actually said, thinking back, but he remembers her having the same sort of shy smile she had before the two of them left for the Midsummer festival.</p><p>"No, just Penny. We went to this witch cafe Kady knows the owner of, though - kind of a literal hole in the wall, with all the obfuscating runes around it. And a little... pretentious? Like a goth-hipster coffee bar." She makes a face for a second, then shrugs and goes back to smiling sort of absently at the sidewalk, like she's not even aware she's doing it. "But they had all sorts of weird magic drinks, with enchanted unmelting ice cubes. Oh, and there was this tiny local artisan booth inside, which was really cute - Penny almost bought this self-weaving infinity scarf, but the witch wanted a claw for it, so he got a different one for actual money instead."</p><p>Quentin nods along, trying to keep his brow from furrowing in confusion. "So, you and Kady aren't..."</p><p>Julia looks up to frown at him. "Aren't what?"</p><p>"You know," he says, gesturing vaguely, but she doesn't seem to get it. "A thing?" he eventually tries.</p><p>Laughing, Julia rolls her eyes like the mere idea is ridiculous. "What does <i>that</i> have to do with anything?" she asks, incredulous - not a denial, but Quentin isn't about to point that out when her eyes are this narrow.</p><p>"Well, I just thought, since you hang out all the time," he says quickly, trying to backtrack before her grip on his fingers tightens too much, "there might be— but if you're dating Penny now, I'm—"</p><p>"It wasn't a <i>date</i>," Julia scoffs, clearly attempting a serious look, but her face is steadily turning redder. "We're just— we're friends, and Kady is... she's different, but we're not— look, nobody is dating anybody."</p><p>"Okay, sorry, forget I asked!" Quentin says through a wince. A few tense, hand-crushing seconds later, Julia relaxes her grip with a huff. She's still blushing though, and looking at the sidewalk a little more thoughtfully than before.</p><p>Quentin catches himself fighting a smile despite his throbbing fingers. "For what it's worth," he tries after a moment, "it's nice to see you… like, happy, you know?" He sways a little closer to her, bumping their shoulders together. "Whether you're dating anybody or not."</p><p>"I'm not," she says immediately, voice flat, but Quentin can see the corners of her mouth curling up unbidden, her cheeks a pleased pink. "Thanks, Q." </p><p>"I mean it." Quentin waits until she glances up at him again before he gives her an urgent look. "Tell me more about Penny's scarves, though, you seem really invested—"</p><p>"<i>Anyway,</i>" Julia says over him, her cheeks veering towards red again, and Quentin bites back a grin. "As I was saying - the others probably kicked us out so they can surprise us when we get back. I didn't really think about it until now, but I guess it has been a whole month."</p><p>"Yeah, wow." Quentin still can't decide if it's felt longer or shorter than that. He's kind of thrilled, though, at the thought that the others went through the effort to plan something as ridiculous as a surprise party. "Are they gonna do this next month, too?"</p><p>"I wouldn't put it past them," Julia snorts. "Margo and Eliot seemed pretty excited when we left."</p><p>Quentin did think that Eliot was kind of weirdly enthusiastic about the bakery, considering his insistence that he couldn't come along with them. He'd kept his hand on the small of Quentin's back as he led him to the door, waxing poetic about macarons the whole way, then sent him out after Julia with a gentle push, and Quentin had been so distracted by the split second of pressure that he almost tripped, and when he glanced over his shoulder Eliot was smiling at him, amused as he waved them off, and— </p><p>"Do you know where we are yet?" Julia asks, bringing Quentin back to the present. He blinks hard, looking up and down the street and trying to focus, but he doesn't recognize much of anything. Just as he's about to open his mouth to admit as much, Julia comes to a stop at the end of a vaguely familiar driveway. "How about now?"</p><p>"Oh, we're… we're back here?" Quentin squints somewhat incredulously at the empty-looking warehouse at the end of the drive. "How did we— that's the coven headquarters, right? Jesus, if this really is a test, I definitely failed the— wait, where are you going?"</p><p>Julia glances back at him from halfway up the path. "Let's stop in," she says, urging him to follow. "Maybe Marina's around. We can show you a spell."</p><p>Quentin looks past her through the open front doors. He knows from the last time he was here that the dark and deserted interior is just an illusion, but it still makes him a little uneasy. He hurries to catch up with Julia regardless. "Are we allowed?" he asks hesitantly as they approach the rune painted on the ground. "Without Kady, I mean."</p><p>"Yeah, Marina likes me," Julia says easily, stepping carefully over the symbol. "We bonded at Midsummer, actually. It was kind of weird at first, but I—"  She cuts off, pausing in the doorway with her back to him. Frowning, Quentin walks over the rune to join her, and very quickly realizes why she stopped.</p><p>If not for the floor suddenly being polished and clear of trash and debris, he would've thought they hadn't passed through the invisible barrier at all. The warehouse is empty, quiet and almost eerily still compared to the bustle of activity Quentin remembers from last time. He's pretty sure Julia said this wasn't the only place the coven met up, so it could be that this one is just… closed today, or something, all the witches gone home for the weekend. But there's something unignorable in the air, stronger than the uncanny silence - the heavy, cloying scent of blood.</p><p>He barely has to glance at Julia to know she smells it, too. "Where's that coming from?" he asks in a whisper, wary of it echoing in the quiet.</p><p>"I can't tell," she whispers back. "But it's close, and it's— there's a lot, Q. Maybe from more than one person."</p><p>Part of Quentin wants to grab her and bolt, run home and get the others— but what if someone is hurt? What if coming back later would make them too late to help? He's already taking a hesitant step forward before he really decides, and with Julia at his heels he ventures further into the warehouse.</p><p>They pass by rows and rows of shelves, full of jars and books and other magical trinkets, but Quentin is too unsettled to muster up even a curious look at any of it. There's nobody hiding at the end of the aisles, though, or bleeding out by the back wall. With another twinge of uneasiness, Quentin remembers Julia mentioning an upper floor, and follows her when she veers off towards the staircase. With one wary look back at him, she starts to climb, Quentin right behind her.</p><p>The stairs lead them up into what looks like a sort of sitting room, with cushions and chairs and spindly-legged tables strewn with crystals and papers covered in runes. It's not the same wide-open space that the lower floor is - upstairs seems to be split into several rooms. Behind them, there's a doorway leading down a dark hall, where the bloody scent seems to be seeping out from. Quentin and Julia glance at each other again and wordlessly, cautiously, head through the door.</p><p>The shadowy rooms on each side of the hallway seem empty of anything except bare furniture, empty crates, and storage boxes - no sign of life in any of them. At the far end of the hall is another door, slightly ajar and leaking a single stripe of watery light.</p><p><i>The casting room,</i> Julia whispers into his mind, latching onto his hand. The scent of blood is so thick as they get closer that Quentin can practically see it in the air. He expects the door to creak as he pushes it open, but it's just as quiet as the rest of the warehouse.</p><p>This room is bigger than the one at the top of the stairs, with bookshelves along the walls and a wide window across from the doorway, letting in cloudy grey daylight. It falls almost softly across the runes drawn on the floor, glints dimly off the circle of upended gold cups and spilled spell components, and makes the three bodies sprawled around the room almost glow red.</p><p>Julia makes a choked noise of shock and lets go of Quentin to rush forward - or she tries to, but her steps end up hesitant, almost forced. Quentin makes himself follow her to the closest body, swallowing past nausea. Whoever it is, they're— broken, fallen at odd angles, and the blood pooled under them is still wet. "Who is it?" he manages to croak.</p><p>"I don't know," Julia whispers, her hands hovering over the body like she's not sure where to touch that won't hurt. She looks helplessly up at Quentin, horrified. "They're witches, all of them. They must have been in the middle of casting, and then… it looks like they were attacked."</p><p>Quentin swallows again, forces his voice to work. "A-are they all—"</p><p>Julia cuts him off with a nod, her face pale as she glances back down at the body. "They haven't been for long, though," she says, voice trembling. "And these are— they're teeth marks, Q. Bites."</p><p>"A wolf did this?" Quentin's stomach twists in revulsion, and he has to look away - but the rest of the room is the same grisly horror, the same blood and merciless brutality. It brings up an uncomfortable flash of memory— running through the trees, tasting copper in the air— seeing the grass streaked red—</p><p>A low growl rolls over them, familiar in a way that makes Quentin's hackles rise. Julia stands up and grabs his hand again, pulling him away from the door as the growl gets louder. Quentin feels it rattling through him, coming closer and closer, and then two bright spots appear in the dark of the hall - cold blue that sends terror searing down his spine.</p><p>The Beast steps out of the shadows with its teeth bared, shouldering its way through the door. Somehow it seems bigger than Quentin remembers, its claws sharper, its bloodstained snarl more like a grin. The massive wolf looms over them, and Quentin can't move or breathe or do anything but stare into the eyes leering back at him, freezing him in place— then the Beast lunges at them, and it's only Julia's deathgrip on his arm that gets him out of its way.</p><p>He feels the Beast's claws cut through the air, close enough to send a fresh surge of terrified adrenaline pumping through him. He dashes across the room with Julia, and nearly slips in a sticky pool of blood in his haste to keep his eyes on the Beast while it slowly turns around. There's no cover in the casting room, nothing to hide behind or use as a weapon. Their only way out is back down the hall - but if they make a move, the Beast will pounce, and if they don't, it'll pounce anyway.</p><p>Thinking fast, Quentin lets go of Julia's hand. <i>I'll distract it,</i> he pushes at her, hoping his racing thoughts come out clear in her mind. <i>Get to the stairs. When the door is clear, run.</i></p><p><i>I'm not leaving you,</i> Julia sends back, firmly enough to drown out everything but the rumbling growl and Quentin's heartbeat in his ears. Before he can argue, the Beast pivots toward them. They're both forced to take back the single step they made towards the doorway as the hulking wolf advances on them, backing them up against the window. It snarls and lunges again, jaws snapping.</p><p>Quentin dives out of the way, landing hard on the floor while Julia scrambles in the opposite direction and catches herself against a bookshelf. The Beast drags its claws against the windowpane with a shrill creak as it leers at her. For a moment, Quentin can't see anything but the terrified look on her face— and then he's on his feet, charging at the wolf with his own claws out, hackles up and fangs splitting through his gums.</p><p>He doesn't manage to dig in very deep before the Beast bats him away, sending him sprawling again. He gets its attention off of Julia, at least, and the wolf turns on him instead, definitely grinning now. Its gaze is still chilling blue, but Quentin doesn't flinch, pushing himself up and facing it head-on, every sense narrowed onto the threat. The Beast almost seems to laugh as it steps towards him, flexing its claws, dropping low to lunge again.</p><p>Just as it's about to pounce, a heavy bookshelf crashes down onto it, pinning the wolf to the floor in a heap of books and splintered wood. Quentin spends a bewildered moment staring at it before he notices Julia panting on the other end of the shelf she's just heaved over. An insane urge to laugh flits over him and passes in a split second, and when he meets Julia's eyes, he doesn't have to tell her to run for it.</p><p>The Beast recovers quickly, throwing the shelf off with a heavy smash. It roars as the two of them rush to the door, the guttural, jagged noise following them out of the casting room and echoing down the hall. Quentin shoves Julia ahead of him as they sprint for the stairs. He can see the railing at the end of the hall - they're so close, only steps away, seconds— Julia passes through the doorway and Quentin is right on her heels— </p><p>He feels hot breath on the back of his neck and twists away on impulse a split second before bright burning pain rips through his shoulder. The Beast doesn't seem to mind missing by a few inches and clamps its jaw over the juncture between Quentin's clavicle and shoulder blade with a sickening crunch, driving its fangs deep through skin and bone and muscle. A scream catches in Quentin's throat but he can't get it out, he can't focus on anything but the pain lighting his every nerve on fire and the Beast's snarl reverberating through his whole body like it's taking him over, like it's <i>him</i> making the noise. He hears Julia screaming for him, he can see her frozen at the top of the stairs, he wants to reach out to her— and then the Beast yanks him backwards and his vision goes white.</p><p>Its teeth clench hard and then release as the Beast tosses Quentin off his feet, hurling him down the hall to land in a painful heap in the casting room doorway. He's bleeding, he can feel it spreading hot and wet down his chest and back, splattering on the floor as he struggles to get up. Whatever bone that snapped has rendered his entire left arm useless, and even lifting his head hurts like another tooth cutting into his shoulder. He's sure the Beast is advancing on him again - he can hear its heavy footsteps, and Julia is still screaming his name, her panic blaring loud in his mind— or maybe it's his own panic, he can't tell anymore.</p><p>Quentin presses his hand over the ragged bite, feeling blood pulse between his fingers, and fights through the pain to drag himself backwards into the casting room. He knows he's only buying seconds, if anything. The Beast takes its time, though, playing with him, giving him a chance to crawl through the door and curl up against the wall beside it. Quentin tries to reach out for the pack bond, but he can barely concentrate, too fixated on the searing pain and the slow approach of the wolf and the smell of his own blood.</p><p>He has to get up. If he can get up, he can fight back, he can give Julia a chance to get away— but he can't make his legs work, he's too shaky with pain and fear. The Beast must be halfway down the hall now, still taking slow, heavy steps, relishing the last moments of its hunt. Quentin spots a long, splintered piece of the smashed bookshelf and tries to reach for it, biting his lip when his shoulder screams in protest and pressing his palm harder against the bite. It's too far away, there's blood dripping off his outstretched fingers and the Beast is getting closer—</p><p>His head snaps up when another growl starts to rumble out of the dark, and a second later the Beast is in the doorway. It hovers there, slowly leaning in to grin at him, a snarl building behind its bloody jaws. Cold fear threatens to freeze Quentin in place. He has to get up before it takes another step, he has to <i>move</i>— </p><p>With a piercing howl, another wolf leaps through the doorway, landing on the Beast's back and digging its claws in. The Beast bellows in pain, or maybe just annoyance, stumbling further into the room with the wolf biting savagely at its neck. It's Margo, Quentin realizes - the swell of her presence in his mind is unmistakable, and she's just as brutal and terrifying as last time he saw her shifted. The Beast snarls as it whirls around, trying to throw her off, but she holds fast with teeth and claws both.</p><p>Quentin is almost too shocked to notice the other footsteps in the hall before the rest of the pack bursts into the room, all growling and poised to fight with claws out and fangs bared - Julia included. Some of her ferocity recedes as she glances around and spots Quentin, but she takes less than a step toward him before Kady moves in front of her, holding her back from the Beast's wildly swinging claws. Josh ends up closest to him after some dodging and weaving, but Quentin barely registers him bending down. He's almost afraid to look away from the fight, even when Josh grimaces with his hands hovering over Quentin's bloody shoulder.</p><p>"Hey, bud," he says, only a little frantic. "We've gotta put some pressure on this, okay?" Quentin nods without thinking, but then Josh puts his hand over Quentin's where he's still holding it against the bite and presses, <i>hard</i>.</p><p>It hurts like a spike through the side of his neck, freezing a yelp in his throat as every nerve in his body lights up again. He must make some sort of noise, though, because someone hushes him, and then Eliot is there, dropping to his knees at Quentin's side. He reaches out to brush Quentin's hair out of his face, eyes full of worry and— something else, something scared— "You're okay, Q," he breathes, his voice tight but still soothing. "Just hold on, we'll get you out of here."</p><p>Across the room, there's a clamor of barking and growling as the Beast finally manages to toss Margo aside. Alice, Penny, and Kady immediately take her place, snapping and tearing at the Beast from all sides. It swipes at them and roars again, the deafening noise sending everyone back a step as the room shakes with it. Instead of clawing its way through their hesitation, the Beast seems to pause for a moment, then whirls around and pins Quentin with an icy blue stare.</p><p>The bite throbs sharply as the Beast's eyes sear into his, and a wave of static pushes into Quentin's mind. <i>This isn't over.</i> The words are jagged, scraping their way in and prickling against his thoughts - but the voice of the Beast is almost soft. <i>I'll be back for you.</i></p><p>A snarl from Eliot finally drags Quentin's gaze away. He sees Eliot's eyes flash gold, the colour swirling as he twists away from Quentin to crouch like he's ready to lunge at the leering wolf. With one final rumbling growl, the Beast turns and dives through the window, sending shattered glass everywhere.</p><p>Margo howls and leaps out after it with the other three right behind her. Eliot looks ready to follow too, eyes still gold, but he stays crouched at Quentin's side. It's when he drops his head and shudders that Quentin realizes Eliot isn't just paused, he's— changing, his bones creaking and shifting beneath his skin. Fur starts to spread down the back of his neck and under the collar of his shirt. His spine bends, almost rippling between his shoulder blades. His entire body seems to crackle, every joint snapping.</p><p>It looks like it hurts. Even turned away, Quentin can see him trembling, like he's trying to hold himself together while the transformation takes hold. Ignoring the hot spike of pain it sends down his arm, Quentin reaches out to grab his hand.</p><p>"No," he chokes out, gripping as hard as he can with fingers slippery with blood. Eliot's head snaps up to look at him, surprise clear on his face even with his fangs out and his eyes that strange gold. "Don't," Quentin pleads, watching gold fade back to hazel as the shuddering stops. "Just— stay here."</p><p>It seems to take Eliot a second to remember how to work his jaw, but once his fangs slide away he turns his body towards Quentin. "Okay," he manages, a little gravelly, like his throat is raw. He shivers once more, but nothing else snaps, and no bones grind together under Quentin's fingers as Eliot grips his hand back. "Okay, I'm here."</p><p>It's a relief quickly driven from his mind as the bite throbs again. Josh seems to have realized there's a whole other half to the jaw full of teeth that clamped onto Quentin's shoulder, and urges him to lean forward so he can put pressure on the gouges above his shoulder blade as well - which hurts, but at least Quentin has something to squeeze while he shuts his eyes against the pain.</p><p>Julia crosses the room then, uncaring of the scattered glass and wood splinters as she kneels beside him. "Q, I'm so sorry," she says, voice cracking. "I should've held onto you, I should've helped—"</p><p>"You can help him now," Josh says, then glances at Eliot, more grave than Quentin has ever seen him. "He's losing a lot of blood. We've gotta move him."</p><p>Eliot nods and slips his hand out of Quentin's grasp to slide an arm around his waist instead, and together they pull him carefully to his feet. Quentin's vision threatens to white out again, but he manages to get his shaky legs to support him just enough that he's not being fully dragged or carried out of the room. Still, it ends up a weird three-person job to get him down the hall, Eliot taking most of his weight and Josh keeping pressure on the bite and Julia leading them around the scattered wood and blood and claw marks, looking ready to catch anyone who trips.</p><p>Quentin isn't sure if standing up made the pain worse or if it's just been steadily mounting the whole time, but either way he can't focus much on anything except putting one foot in front of the other, and even that eventually becomes a struggle. The bite feels like it's burning, like the Beast's teeth left hot coals behind. He's almost surprised that Josh can stand to touch it without scalding his hands.</p><p>He wonders when adrenaline is supposed to kick in, or if it has already, or if this is what going into shock feels like. Whatever it is, it's not making moving any easier, and then another throb of pain has him closing his eyes again - or maybe he fully blacks out this time, because when he opens them he's being led down the last few stairs to the lower floor.</p><p>Margo and Kady are waiting there, the former shifted back now and wearing Kady's jacket over her torn clothes. "We lost him," she huffs before anyone can ask, picking glass out of her hair. "Penny and Alice are still on the hunt, but that fucker is fast." Her expression shifts from annoyance to worry as she gets a good look at Quentin - lightheaded and probably leaving a trail of blood, he's sure he's not a pretty sight. "How's he doing?"</p><p>"Not great," Josh says, easing Quentin down to sit on the bottom step. Keeping an arm around him, Eliot sits close enough that Quentin can lean against him while he struggles to catch his breath. It would be a relief to be low to the ground again if it actually did anything for the dizziness, or for the pain.</p><p>Margo comes a little closer, and Quentin can't hold back a choked gasp when Josh peels his hand away, sticky with blood, to show her the bite. Eliot holds him tighter, trying to soothe him through the bond, but it's all static - his arm is on fire and it's spreading down his chest. Even Margo's cool palm against his forehead doesn't quell the heat for long.</p><p>"The bodies upstairs," he hears Kady say, as if from far off, "were they— did you see that happen?"</p><p>"No," Julia says, her voice low and shaky. "They were already dead before we got here. We just smelled the blood, and then— the Beast came out of nowhere, I don't know how—"</p><p>"Let's not talk about it here," Margo cuts in, taking her hand back. "We need to get him home, now." She gives Quentin a careful look that he struggles to return. "Can you walk?"</p><p>"He can barely stand," Eliot murmurs. Quentin wants to argue, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a weak whimper, pain prickling in his lungs.</p><p>"Okay, honey," Margo soothes, reaching out to touch his cheek. "Don't worry, we've got you."</p><p>Quentin can feel her presence nudging at him, drawing his gaze up, and when he meets her eyes they're— scared, for a split second. Then they flash red.</p><p><i>Sleep,</i> she commands, but her voice wavers in Quentin's mind, and the unconsciousness he slips into is shallow and thin.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>He senses only a few things on the journey back to Haven - being carried, mostly, and hushed voices, small tugs on the bond. Someone's heartbeat under his cheek. The bite doesn't stop burning, but the pain fades enough - or, Quentin does - that he can drift away from it, treat it like background noise, something not quite ignored but gotten used to. It sharpens if he swims too close to the surface, focusing on a scent or a murmured voice, so he tries to tune it all out and stay as low as he can.<p>He can't help stirring at the creak of the courtyard gate, relief seeping into him at the thought of being home. He feels the change in the air as he's brought inside, hears several voices speaking at once and then one - Margo, probably - rising above the rest. There's something weird about the room, something bright behind his eyelids, and a scent like rubber, like balloons. Beyond that, something sweet he's sure he could make out if he pushed a little further— but pain scrapes against him like a full-body shiver and he retreats back down into the shallow pool of sleep.</p><p>And it is shallow now, shrinking, drying up - Quentin can feel the hot coals in his shoulder starting to glow again as unconsciousness evaporates from him. It leaves only the pain and the heat, like the rest of his body is just kindling for whatever the Beast pushed under his skin.</p><p>The next thing Quentin registers is the arched attic ceiling above him. He's on his bed, on his back, and Julia is there, bent over beside him. The rest of the pack is there too, actually, gathered around the foot of the bed - except Margo, who's next to Julia, and Eliot, who's by the door.</p><p>His shoulder burns. He feels sticky with sweat, or maybe blood, or both. His torn shirt is gone, but if anything he feels too hot, almost feverish. He can't see the bite, but he can feel it throbbing in time with his pulse. Nobody's putting pressure on it, now. Quentin wonders if that's a good sign or a bad one.</p><p>Julia has his hand clasped in both of hers, but she doesn't seem to have noticed he's awake - in her defense, he's not doing much more than squinting blearily around the room just yet, and she's not even looking at him. He follows her gaze over to Penny, who's saying something that takes Quentin's ears some time to translate from ringing into actual words.</p><p>"—obviously petty enough about his track record when it comes to wiping people out," Penny is huffing, crossing his arms. "The Beast must have followed them here."</p><p>"If he did, he would've shown up at our front door by now," Margo points out, shaking her head.</p><p>"Unless he lost the trail," Josh suggests. "Once he hit the city, maybe?"</p><p>Kady gives him a grim look. "He definitely picked <i>something</i> up, if he got as far as the coven's warehouse."</p><p>"Why even bother with the coven?" Penny asks, looking back at Margo. "Was he trying to lure them in, or what?"</p><p>"The Beast had no way of knowing we'd even pass that way," Julia says, a little quieter than the others. "We weren't supposed to be there."</p><p>Margo puts a hand on her shoulder as Alice pipes up across the room. "Those witches could have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe the Beast was following the trail and happened upon them, or he was— interrogating them," she says haltingly, with a furtive glance at Kady, "and then, when Julia and Quentin came by…"</p><p>"He figured it was his lucky day," Penny finishes for her, grumbling.</p><p>"Well, it wasn't," Margo huffs. "If that fucker hadn't gotten performance anxiety—"</p><p>"It's just as well he did," Alice cuts her off. "We've got bigger things to worry about, now."</p><p>It's not until there's a long pause that Quentin realizes they must all be looking at him, but his eyes have slid shut again. He wishes he had the energy to sit up, but all his muscles feel wobbly, warped with heat.</p><p>"How is he?" he hears Kady ask, her voice hushed.</p><p>"He's hanging on," Margo says quietly. Quentin isn't sure if it's supposed to sound reassuring or not. He feels Julia squeeze his hand and tries to squeeze back, but only manages a wince as heat prickles painfully down his arm.</p><p>After another few seconds of silence, he hears someone clear their throat. "Well," Josh says, not quite cheerily but clearly trying, "it's, uh, kind of morbid, being covered in someone else's blood, so. I'm gonna go wash up."</p><p>There's a quiet murmur of agreement that goes around the room, and footsteps of several people heading for the door, then Kady, closer than before - "You too, Jules, come on. It won't take long."</p><p>Julia hesitates, her grip on his hand tightening for a moment. "I'll be right here," Margo offers, soft. "I won't let anything happen to him."</p><p>It takes another long second, but eventually Julia's hand slips away, and after two more quiet sets of footsteps the room goes quiet. When Quentin finally manages to wrench his eyes open again, it's just Margo left hovering over him, her eyes lowered and her expression pinched with worry.</p><p>She doesn't seem to notice Quentin's gaze flitting over her. He wants to reach for her hand, but just the thought of lifting his arm makes him dizzy - blood loss, he supposes. Though he can't feel it pooling sickly warm between his fingers anymore, he can still smell it, and can almost taste the copper in the air. He's sure that if he tried to sit up, the sheets would stick to his back, tacky and crusted red.</p><p>"Are you just gonna stay over there?" Margo asks suddenly. At first Quentin thinks, confusedly, that she's talking to him, but after a moment she glances over her shoulder, and Quentin notices Eliot still standing by the door behind her.</p><p>He's in his shirtsleeves, and though he has his arms crossed it doesn't do much to hide how much of his front is stained red. The line of his shoulders is rigid, only stiffening under Margo's gaze until he looks away. "Just— tell me how he's doing. Honestly. No bullshit."</p><p>Margo lets out a long, slow breath. "He's not healing fast enough," she says eventually. Quentin sees Eliot's jaw clench from across the room. "With all of us here, the bleeding should've stopped ages ago, but it's not. We can't set his collarbone, or tell how bad the break is. And he's burning up. Alpha bites can be nasty, but this is…" She trails off, shaking her head and dropping her gaze again.</p><p>"Could the Beast have done something to him?" Eliot asks, taking a wooden step closer like he can't help it. "Poison? Or some fucked-up version of alpha influence, or—"</p><p>"I don't know, El," Margo sighs. "I've never seen a wolf like that. I thought he'd be rabid, some insane, foaming-at-the-mouth type of situation, but he was— controlled." Her fingers clench in the sheets beside Quentin's hand. "He knew exactly what he was doing. You saw his eyes."</p><p>"I saw the way he looked at Quentin," Eliot corrects. "He didn't care about the rest of us."</p><p>Margo closes her eyes for a moment. "If we had been any later—"</p><p>"Don't," Eliot cuts her off, voice rough. He halts a few steps away and stands there, tightly coiled, for a long few seconds before he takes a breath and uncrosses his arms. He doesn't seem to want to let his eyes stray too close to Quentin on the bed, instead fixing them carefully on Margo. "I need <i>something</i>, Bambi," he says, quieter, more controlled. "I need to know what I can do."</p><p>"And I know you don't want to hear this," Margo says, getting up to go over to him, "but honestly, El— nothing. We've cleaned him up as best we can."</p><p>Eliot turns away from her, scoffing humourlessly. "Julia is not going to take it well if you tell her all we can do is make him <i>comfortable</i>."</p><p>Quentin agrees, even if he can't make his dry throat work enough to say so. His head is still pounding, his entire torso staticky with pain and heat, but he starts the slow struggle of trying to sit up, shifting his weight to his good arm. Neither of the other two notice, Eliot still resolutely avoiding even glancing at the bed, and Margo too busy catching his hand to make him stop and look back at her.</p><p>"The best thing is to just stay close, and hope being around the pack will fix things," she says firmly. "Even if it's slow going."</p><p>Lip curling, Eliot pulls his hand away. "What if it's too slow?" </p><p>Margo glares at him. "What do you want me to say?" He doesn't seem to have an answer, staring at the floor with his back to the bed. "We don't have a choice, El. The only thing stronger than that is—" Margo cuts off with a huff, shaking her head again, but Eliot latches on.</p><p>"Is what?" His voice is so abruptly breathless with desperation that Quentin pauses, suddenly feeling like he's intruding, like this is something he's not meant to overhear. He can't see Eliot's face, but he can hear every note of misery in his words. "Please, Margo. Anything." </p><p>Quentin closes his eyes. He just needs to ignore the pain and get a steady hand underneath him, he just needs his arm to hold his weight without buckling—</p><p>"If Quentin had a mate," Margo says quietly, before he can try to move, "that bond might work faster. But he doesn't." She doesn't sound despairing, just matter-of-fact. Quentin can picture her jaw set adamantly. "He has us. That's as good as it gets, so—"</p><p>"I'll do it," Eliot breathes.</p><p>There's a long pause from Margo, and Quentin lifts his head enough to watch her give Eliot a confused look. "Do what?"</p><p>"I'll bond with him," Eliot says. "I'll… be his mate."</p><p>Quentin's breath sticks in his throat. He wonders if he misheard, if the feverish heat is making him delirious - but Margo definitely heard it too. "Eliot, come on," she sighs, taking his hand again. "Mate bonds aren't— it's not like a casual hook-up. It's not the type of ritual you can just do with anybody, you know that." She looks up at him searchingly, like he's avoiding her eye. "The connection is permanent. It might not even work if you're not—"</p><p>"I know," Eliot murmurs, "but... there's a chance, right? And it could help?" Margo hesitates for a few quiet seconds, but nods. "Then we have to try."</p><p>She doesn't look convinced. "El," she starts, but Eliot is already pleading with her, stepping closer to wrap his hands around hers.</p><p>"Please, I can't just watch him—" He cuts off like he's run out of breath, or like the rest of the words are choking him. He grips Margo's hands tighter. "I have to do something," he says, voice low, head bowed. "Let me do this."</p><p>Margo regards him carefully for a moment, then glances past him to the bed where Quentin is pulling himself shakily upright. "Well," she sighs, lips quirking just slightly, "it's not up to me."</p><p>Quentin tries to smile when Eliot turns around, but from the way his eyes widen, it might've come out like more of a grimace. "Jesus, Q," Eliot huffs, and finally comes closer, rushing over to the bed with Margo right behind him. "Lie back down, you're still—"</p><p>"I'm okay," Quentin manages. His mouth is dry and he's dizzier than ever, but for a moment, Eliot's presence cuts through the haze of pain and Quentin can see him clearly, can feel the press of his fingers curling around his wrist more distinctly than anything else. "Could that really work? A mate bond?"</p><p>Eliot suddenly looks much less resolute than he did just seconds ago, and flounders for a beat before Margo rolls her eyes and steps in. "Mates can help each other heal," she explains. "Same as the pack, but more focused. It's more of a side effect to the actual bond, but, you know. Desperate times." Her expression turns serious as she looks over the bite, still bleeding sluggishly. "That said, it might not work. The ritual takes a lot of focus, and you're not exactly in top form."</p><p>Quentin winces as his shoulder throbs, like Margo's gaze has weight enough to hurt. "But it's worth a shot, right?" he asks weakly. "I mean, if the alternative is, like, dying—"</p><p>"You're not dying," Eliot says immediately, almost fiercely insistent.</p><p>"Not on our watch," Margo agrees. "But— Quentin, you have to be sure." She leans down to touch his face, her fingers gentle against his heated skin, brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "There's no take-backs on this, okay? It's not like the pack bond. Mates have a different connection, something deeper, something even I can't undo." She glances at Eliot for a moment, her gaze lingering and serious. "You'll be part of each other, permanently."</p><p>Eliot keeps his eyes on Quentin, unwavering. "It's up to you, Q."</p><p>Quentin, admittedly, doesn't know a lot about mate bonds, except that they're meant for people in love, people devoted to each other. He and Eliot… aren't that, obviously, but— here Eliot is, offering. Here he is with his fingers over Quentin's pulse, looking at him like he's afraid to blink, like he's desperate for every second that Quentin looks back.</p><p>"I'm sure," Quentin says, breathing it out. He drags his eyes back to Margo, feeling Eliot's grip tighten almost imperceptibly. "How does it work?"</p><p>He half expects to be herded down to the courtyard like they were for the pack initiation, but the attic is apparently a good enough place as any to set up a ritual. Margo steps out for a moment and returns with Alice in tow, both with a handful of candles that they start placing around the room. While Alice sets about lighting each wick, Margo opens the window and fully removes the curtain rod so the moon can shine in. Quentin is a little surprised to see how late it's gotten, but it's also getting harder to focus, dizziness and the feverish haze clouding over him again. As much as he wants to lie back down, he knows he won't be able to get up a second time if he does, and he'd kind of like to be upright for this.</p><p>Eliot stays close, kneeling in front of him and still holding his wrist. Quentin tries to focus on that touch instead of the cloying pain of the bite. The high point of each throb is stronger now, maybe the worst it's been since he woke up. He can feel the prickling heat spreading across his chest again, making his lungs ache with every shuddery breath. By the time Alice has finished lighting the candles, Quentin is very nearly trembling with the effort not to make any noise. The dim, flickering light doesn't do much to hide the dark blood dripping slowly down his chest.</p><p>"Here." Margo holds out a thin papery herb to Eliot, some sort of dried flower. "Be careful, both of you."</p><p>Eliot reaches up to take it with a thin smile. "We will, Bambi."</p><p>She gives him a hard look in return, holding his gaze for long enough that Quentin thinks they must be using the bond - but when her eyes shift over to Quentin, she doesn't send him anything. She just searches his face for a moment, then backs up to join Alice by the door. It closes softly behind them, and then it's just Quentin and Eliot and the moon shining in across their backs.</p><p>It takes Quentin a few tries to swallow around the pain enough to talk. "What is that?" he manages to ask, squinting at the flower between Eliot's fingers. </p><p>"Wolfsbane," Eliot says, moving to sit on the bed next to him. "Nowhere near a lethal dose, just enough to cut us off."</p><p>Quentin wonders briefly if Eliot can feel the tremor running through him where their knees press together, but he's distracted when Eliot holds the flower out for him to look closer at. "Cut us off from what?"</p><p>"From the pack. It's going to cloud the bond temporarily, so we can focus." Eliot leans over to the closest candle, holding the sprig of wolfsbane in the flame until it starts to smolder, then places it on the nightstand, where it curls smoke into the air as it burns. Quentin has to look away before he gets even dizzier.</p><p>"What are we supposed to be focusing on?" he asks, more to try and ground himself than anything, but Eliot gives him an almost amused look.</p><p>"On each other," he clarifies, settling back beside Quentin. "Take a breath."</p><p>Quentin does. There's a bitter floral scent floating around his bed now, and it seems to seep further into his mind with his next breath, and the next. It swirls around the threads of the bond, spreading a sort of fog that clouds his already-vague senses. Within a few seconds, most of the threads have disappeared quietly into the smoke, just far enough out of sight to be beyond his perception, but not worryingly so - and Eliot is still there, right beside him but also front and center in his mind, his presence as steady as it always is. </p><p>Quentin kind of wants to just sit and bask in that familiarity, but his next deep breath hitches - it feels like the bite is tearing a new gouge through his shoulder, snapping off another piece of bone. He chokes out a pained noise, for a moment unable to feel anything but the searing heat of it, the glowing coals— until his chest unlocks and he can breathe again, though it's less deep breaths and more ragged panting.</p><p>He's definitely shaking now, and Eliot, still right next to him, can definitely feel it. Jaw tight, Eliot slides a soothing hand up his uninjured arm, but Quentin's nerves are so lit up that the touch almost hurts. He bites back another noise anyway, and lets Eliot press closer to him. He tries to focus on the feel of his hand, the gentle warmth that's so different from the burning, overwhelming heat.</p><p>"It's okay, I'm going to help," Eliot murmurs to him. When Quentin looks up, there's something familiar about the way the candlelight flickers in his eyes. "It's just you and me. Are you ready?"</p><p>Quentin pushes down a pained shiver and nods.</p><p>Eliot gives him another moment to catch his breath before he reaches out for Quentin's hand. "We start with a physical link," he explains quietly, rubbing his thumb over Quentin's palm before lifting it to his mouth.</p><p>Quentin can't help gasping in pain as Eliot drags the sharp edge of one fang across his palm. The unexpected burst of jagged heat radiates up his wrist, but trying to tug his hand away jars his shoulder. He squirms weakly, his voice breaking on a whimper. "<i>Eliot—</i>"</p><p>"I'm sorry, I know it hurts," Eliot hushes him, his lips brushing Quentin's palm. "It'll be over soon, I promise." He quickly slices his own hand the same way and presses the bleeding cut against Quentin's matching one, folding their fingers together. Quentin keeps squirming until Eliot stills him with his free hand settled on the back of Quentin's neck. "You're okay, come here."</p><p>Quentin tips forward automatically, letting Eliot draw him closer and press their foreheads together. Eliot moves their joined hands down to rest on the sheets between them, keeping their palms pressed tightly together. Blood drips down between their fingers, spreading dark in the moonlight falling across them— and then, slowly, the cut stops hurting. Quentin can still feel his pulse thrumming through it, though, and Eliot's beating right along next to it.</p><p>"What's happening?" he breathes, so lost in the not-quite-numbness that he almost forgets about the prickling pain flowing through the rest of him.</p><p>"We're connected," Eliot says softly, fingers curling across his nape. "Tell me what you feel."</p><p>Quentin's eyes flutter shut. There's nothing, just hurt and the absence of hurt— but now there's also Eliot's heartbeat, and the hand on his neck, the warmth of both his palms. He feels Eliot's quiet breath on his face mingling with his own shuddery exhale, like they're breathing in the same rhythm. This close, he can feel their heartbeats are matched up too. And there's that bright spot in his mind, emanating through the fog like a beacon.</p><p>"You," Quentin murmurs, not entirely sure until he says it out loud. He feels Eliot's grip tighten. "Just you."</p><p>He focuses on the bright spot, pushing closer to it, following it like a tether that he knows leads to Eliot— then nearly recoils when he feels something push back. Eliot's voice slips into his mind to steady him, <i>Relax, Q</i> spreading calm between his thoughts, drawing him back in.</p><p><i>Is that you?</i> Quentin asks, but he knows the answer already. He feels the same gentle push when he reaches out again and pictures Eliot doing the same thing, both of them reaching to meet in the middle. It's like they're pressing on either side of a barrier, a plane of glass between them. He can almost... <i>see</i> Eliot through it, so close but not close enough. <i>What is this?</i></p><p><i>I don't know.</i> In his mind, Eliot raises a hand to the glass and presses his palm against it - the one with the cut, though it's not bleeding here. Quentin does the same automatically, fitting their hands together on the pane. He can almost feel the warmth of Eliot's skin through it, and imagines the cut on his palm matching up against his own— and suddenly the glass isn't glass, it's almost pliable, almost not there at all.</p><p><i>You're so close,</i> Eliot murmurs to him. <i>Why can't I reach you?</i></p><p>Quentin gives the not-glass a tentative push, and it trembles under his hand. <i>I think you can,</i> he sends back, determination building in him. <i>I think we can get through.</i> </p><p>Together they could push past it, he's almost sure - but there's something held within the glass, something that vibrates the harder he presses. It feels... powerful, but tremulous, like it could break apart at any moment. Like the glass could shatter, fracturing into a thousand splintered pieces between them, sharp and searing, digging into him like <i>teeth</i>— Quentin flinches back at the thought, his shoulder burning. The glass ripples and Eliot starts to fade— </p><p><i>Quentin.</i> Eliot's hand slides across his neck, his thumb stroking Quentin's cheekbone. <i>Stay with me. I'm right here.</i></p><p>And he is - he's so close, Quentin can't feel anything else. He raises his hand again and presses it blindly against the glass, tries another hesitant push and feels the barrier yield like it did before. It's thinning out, vibrating, threatening to crack beneath his palm— but he finds the warmth of Eliot's hand waiting for him on the other side, bringing him back into focus.</p><p>He's <i>right there</i>, he's reaching for him, and suddenly reaching back is easy. Quentin moves through the glass like it's water and presses his hand against Eliot's, presses <i>hard</i> and feels something give.</p><p>It reminds him of the first push of the pack bond into his mind, how it spread through him and how he opened up, the give-and-take. But there's no crackle of static here, no sudden reveal of different threads. There's just Eliot, pressed so close to Quentin that they slip past each other, occupying the same space.</p><p>He pushes further into Eliot, trying to match up their shapes to fit, and at the same time he can feel Eliot pressing into him, spreading out to every corner, aligning until Quentin can't tell where his presence ends and Eliot's begins. It's— euphoric, every part of him lit up - but it's not just <i>him</i> anymore, it's both of them at once. When he takes a breath he feels it through Eliot's lungs, hears his pulse in Eliot's throat, his skin against Eliot's skin against his against Eliot's…</p><p>Eventually Quentin can feel his edges reforming, his senses becoming his own again. Eliot's presence doesn't slip out or pass through him so much as it just... fades, as Quentin slowly comes back to his own body, filling himself out again. There's something left behind, though, some residual sense he can't see or touch, but he can feel it— a tension that isn't his, blurring in and out of focus at the back of his mind.</p><p>When he opens his eyes Eliot is still there, pressed against him with one hand cupping his jaw like he's forgotten he put it there. The swell of whatever was between them quiets down to just Quentin's heartbeat in his ears - or maybe it's Eliot's heartbeat, he still can't tell. Either way, Quentin barely has to think his name to get Eliot to look at him, and as soon as they lock eyes the tension releases.</p><p>Instead Quentin is flooded with something else - relief, maybe, or something warmer - but that's not quite his either. It's like he's picking up a foreign signal, sort of how the others' thoughts feel in his mind, but it's not a thought. There's no push of intent or words attached, it's just— emotion, offcenter impressions, vague and curious sensations pouring into him from— from Eliot.</p><p>Eliot seems to reach the same conclusion at the same moment, and something like awe washes slowly over Quentin. "Oh," Eliot breathes, barely above a whisper. "You're— can you feel that?"</p><p>Quentin nods as much as he can without moving away. "It's you. Or me, or— us?" He can't quite identify specific feelings - they're <i>almost</i> familiar, but at the same time so different from how his own emotions feel.</p><p>Eliot is... surprised, a little worried, a little— scared, maybe? But he's also warm and pliant and almost yielding - Quentin isn't sure what emotion that really is, but he wants to draw more of it out. He wants to press closer until he's wrapped up in it.</p><p>He feels Eliot huff a laugh against him. "You feel so…"</p><p>"What?" Quentin prompts, burning with curiosity, but Eliot stays quiet, stroking across his cheek again.</p><p>Even the gentle touch seems to radiate through him. Quentin wonders if Eliot feels it too, if he feels his skin on Quentin's or the other way around. "Did you know it would feel like this?" he asks, feeling breathless.</p><p>"No," Eliot admits, laughing again. "I had no idea."</p><p>Quentin can't help smiling as Eliot's buoyant amusement passes into him. "You must have met other wolves who were bonded, though, other mates?"</p><p>Eliot snorts. "Yeah, but I never thought I'd…"</p><p>Something new comes twisting in the back of Quentin's mind as he trails off, something hazy and hard to see through, and before he can try to draw it into focus, Eliot starts to pull away. Quentin very nearly knocks their skulls together as he pitches forward after him, everything else abruptly forgotten.</p><p>"Hey, it's okay," Eliot huffs softly, his hand returning to the back of Quentin's neck. "You should lie down, before one of us gets a leg cramp and we both have to deal with it."</p><p>Quentin supposes he has a point. The weird haziness fades away as Eliot gently lowers him down on his side, careful not to jostle his injured arm - and then he hesitates for a moment, like he's going to pull away again.</p><p>Admittedly, the intensity of the despair that drops through Quentin is probably a little dramatic, but in those few seconds he really can't imagine anything worse than not having Eliot touching him. It must come through pretty strongly on Eliot's end, though, because Quentin doesn't have to reach out or even think <i>Stay</i> as hard as he can before he feels whatever resolve Eliot was trying to gather give way.</p><p>He lies down next to Quentin, pressed close to him on the single mattress, their noses almost brushing. And the whole time, he keeps his grip on Quentin's hand even though it's sticky and wet with blood. Quentin is a little surprised to notice the cut is still somehow painless, even now that they're disconnected— or, as disconnected as they can be, now, as a bonded pair.</p><p>That sure is a thought. He and Eliot, bonded. Mates.</p><p>Quentin feels giddy all of a sudden, and finds his own smile mirrored on Eliot's face. "What?" Eliot asks softly, but Quentin shakes his head. Eliot can probably feel it more clearly than he could describe it, anyway.</p><p>He rests their joined hands on the sheets between them, keeping his other arm held carefully curled against his chest. The bite still throbs weakly, but Quentin barely registers it. There's so much else to feel, so many things floating into the back of his mind, clouding the line between foreign and familiar. He wants to soak it all in, every bit of emotion that isn't quite his.</p><p>"It's so loud," he murmurs, still awed at being able to feel it at all.</p><p>"It's just new," Eliot assures him, reaching out to brush Quentin's hair out of his eyes. "I think it'll get softer, once it settles."</p><p>Quentin frowns at that. He isn't sure he wants it any softer, really. There's a warmth simmering under his skin and he can't tell whose it is. "What if I like it like this?"</p><p>Eliot's hand hovers in the air for a split second before he breathes a laugh and moves it down, sliding across Quentin's waist instead. "Then I'd remind you that we've all had an extremely long and perilous afternoon," he says amusedly, "and some of us are probably a bit loopy right now." The warmth follows his hand - definitely Quentin's, then - and sparks up Quentin's back when Eliot smooths his palm out against his bare skin. "Seriously, Q. You should rest."</p><p>Almost as soon as he says it, Quentin suddenly has to put real effort into keeping his eyes open. He struggles through it, though, shaking his head, and feels more than sees Eliot raise an unimpressed eyebrow. "What, do you have somewhere to be?" Eliot asks, wry.</p><p>"No, I'm just— worried," Quentin admits quietly, one last anxious thought pushing its way out of him. "I don't want to wake up and— and lose this."</p><p>He feels something surge across the gap between them, a wave of protectiveness that builds in Eliot's chest and spills out into Quentin's. One brush with that has his worry unravelling even before Eliot locks eyes with him.</p><p>"You won't, Q," Eliot tells him, squeezing his hand. "I swear you won't."</p><p>It's hard not to believe him when Quentin can feel the sincerity in the words as if he said them himself. Keeping track of what's his and what's Eliot's takes more focus than he has left, especially with exhaustion dragging him down, and every breath between them felt by both. He remembers that the loft cuddle puddle was supposed to help the pack bond develop - maybe mate bonds work the same way?</p><p>But he doesn't ask. It's nice to have Eliot so close, whether it has a real effect or not. He feels safe, completely unwound but held together by Eliot's grip on his hand, keeping him grounded even while their edges blur together. Quentin isn't sure when his eyes close, but he knows the last thing he sees - and feels - is Eliot, pressed against him.</p>
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  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>He wakes up once, briefly, when the room is orange with sunrise. He swims up out of unconsciousness with heavy eyelids, drawn by a soft repetitive touch across his temple. There are a few things he can make out - the dim light through the window, the blanket pulled up over his waist, and Eliot, mostly. He's still awake, still beside him and stroking one hand softly through Quentin's hair.<p>For a moment, the sun crests over Eliot's shoulder, the soft rays making his outline glow. Quentin watches the light dance across his curls, his cheek, the tip of his ear. He wants to reach out and touch, wants to feel the warmth of it on his fingers, against Eliot's skin.</p><p>But the moment passes and the shining fades, like the sun is dipping back down. The room doesn't get any darker, though, still the dim orange of early dawn, so maybe it wasn't the sun after all. Maybe a glare off the windowpane, or just Quentin's bleary eyes smudging things together as drowsiness tugs at him.</p><p>Eliot's hand pauses in its slow petting just as Quentin's eyelids droop shut again. He feels soft fingers against his jaw, a thumb passing gently over his cheekbone. He turns his face into the touch.</p><p>"Q?" Eliot murmurs, but Quentin is already fading, falling back to sleep in the warm light. He thinks he feels Eliot's hand in his hair again, but it might be a dream. He hopes it isn't.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey! we're officially halfway through the story now! i think! don't quote me on that<br/>anyway in this chapter, oh my god they were mates. surely this will turn out fine</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time Quentin opens his eyes, the sun is high and he's alone in bed. His head is clear for the first time in— what feels like days, but christ, has it really only been a night? He sits up and the sheet he doesn't remember crawling under slips down around his hips. His shoulder aches, but none of his bones seem to be grinding together. The bite isn't burning hot and feverish anymore, just stiff and stinging when he puts too much weight on it, and the pain doesn't prickle in his lungs or down his arm.</p>
<p>There's a sort of alarming amount of blood dried on his bedsheets - and across his whole torso, actually, and his hands, especially the one Eliot held so tightly. But when Quentin turns his palm over, he's somehow surprised to find the cut almost completely healed. The only reminder that Eliot's mouth ever touched his skin is a thin, pale line that's bound to disappear within the day. He isn't sure how he feels about that.</p>
<p>He looks around the rest of the room instead, taking in the other remnants of the ritual. The candles have long since burned down, and the sprig of wolfsbane is just ashes on the nightstand. It seems like an entirely different room, now that his mind is his own again, or— mostly, anyway. He's alone, but he can still feel Eliot somewhere close.</p>
<p>Confused, Quentin closes his eyes and tries to follow the vague feeling, spreading his perception like extending his hands. Eliot's presence is easy to reach for, but it's shifted slightly, like Quentin is seeing into two rooms at once - one with him sitting up in bed alone, and one with Eliot wherever he is. Definitely in the house. A floor down, maybe. Quentin can't quite make the rooms overlap enough to see clearly.</p>
<p><i>Eliot?</i> he calls out, tentative through the bond. After a beat, he feels something muted in return - not words, just a soft press of Eliot's presence at the back of his mind, a quiet, almost absent response.</p>
<p>A knock at the door stops Quentin from trying to push any further, and he blinks as Margo slips into the room. "You're up already? I thought you'd be conked out all day," she says, smiling as she approaches the bed. "How are you feeling? A little less close to death?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, actually," Quentin says, breathing out a sigh and catching himself smiling back at her. He holds still while Margo takes a closer look at the bite, and only winces a little at her gentle prodding.</p>
<p>"Looks like you're done leaking, at least," she hums, smoothing her hand down his arm. "And your collarbone isn't in pieces anymore. Does it still hurt?"</p>
<p>"A bit," Quentin admits, then, trying for nonchalant, "um, where's—"</p>
<p>"Eliot?" Margo gives him a wry glance. "Downstairs, taking a nap. Turns out this type of thing really wipes a guy out, even if he wasn't the one dying."</p>
<p>Quentin nods sheepishly. That eases his mind, though - if Eliot is asleep, then the faraway, muted impressions Quentin is getting from him make a bit more sense. He wonders if Eliot felt anything like that from him while they were curled up together earlier, or even after he left, whenever that was.</p>
<p>"You <i>are</i> okay, right?" Margo asks, looking a little suspicious when he zones back in. She presses her hand against his forehead before he can open his mouth for reassurances, but whatever she feels when her eyes flash seems to appease her. "I should probably warn you," she sighs, taking her hand back. "The others are all basically right outside, waiting to either throttle or cuddle you, depending on who gets in here first." </p>
<p>"Oh." Now that she's mentioned it, Quentin can definitely feel the rest of the pack, too - not hovering in the attic hall, at least, but close enough that he can picture them all keeping one eye on the staircase. "Do I get a head start?"</p>
<p>Margo snorts, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, they think you're still asleep. And I, for one, would rather get you a little further out of the woods before we let Josh bear-hug you within an inch of your life."</p>
<p>Quentin winces at the thought. "I appreciate it." He does want to see the others soon, though, mostly to thank them. Thinking about how they all appeared out of nowhere and rallied around him still leaves him kind of shocked. "Nobody else got hurt, right? Everyone's okay?"</p>
<p>"We're just fine," Margo assures him, wry again, and taps gently just below the marks on his collar. "Aside from a ruined manicure and some fur in our teeth, the Beast only got one good hit in." </p>
<p>"It was amazing, watching you fight him off," Quentin mumbles, looking down at the sheets bunched in his lap. "I mean, all of you were just— like, ready to throw down, no hesitation."</p>
<p>"Of course we were," Margo says, nearly scoffing. "That's what pack <i>is</i>, Q." He risks a glance up at her with a tentative smile, and she returns it before playfully tugging the ends of his hair. "I did say I'd keep reminding you."</p>
<p>"I know," Quentin says quietly. "And... I know it's only been, like, a month, but— <i>oh,</i>" he gasps, cutting himself off - the strange pain-hazed sensations he picked up as he was carried inside the night before suddenly return to him, balloons and desserts and sparkling decorations— "Oh <i>shit</i>, the party," he groans, straightening up abruptly enough to send a jolt through his shoulder, but he barely pays it any attention, too busy grimacing at Margo. "It was supposed to be a surprise, and then we just— fuck, Margo, I'm sorry."</p>
<p>Margo blinks at him for a moment, her eyebrows rising steadily higher. "Are you serious? <i>That's</i> what you're worried about?" </p>
<p>Floundering under her incredulous gaze, Quentin gestures vaguely with his good arm. "I just mean— you guys planned all that, and then we didn't even—"</p>
<p>"Yeah, you <i>not dying</i> kind of took first priority," Margo says flatly. It's a pretty good point, but Quentin still feels a little bad about ruining things. Margo takes one look at his frown and rolls her eyes again, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Don't worry about the party, you dumbass. We can party any day of the week. We'll just reschedule, make it one-and-a-half moon cycles if we have to."</p>
<p>Quentin nods meekly, biting back a sheepish grin. "I promise I'll pretend to be surprised."</p>
<p>"You'd better," Margo warns, hiding her laughter in a huff. "We take that type of thing very seriously in this house."</p>
<p>Before Quentin can do much more than snicker in response - as if he needed to be reminded of <i>that</i> - Margo drops her mock-glare to glance over her shoulder, like she's heard something. "Speaking of serious," she says casually, turning back to Quentin, "Julia is gonna give herself a hernia if I don't let her in here."</p>
<p>Quentin can't help a tired laugh. "That sounds about right." He does want to see her, though, now that he thinks about it. The others too, obviously, but Julia has to come first.</p>
<p>Part of him wants to get out of bed and go find her himself, blood loss be damned, but if she's as close as she feels in his mind, it's probably not worth fainting for. Another part of him is more hesitant, stuck on the elephant in the room - the bloody, half-mauled elephant that started last night grievously injured but woke up well on its way to a miraculous recovery.</p>
<p>"Does she know?" he asks quietly, his fingers twisting anxiously in the sheets. "About the ritual, I mean, about… me and Eliot."</p>
<p>Margo tilts her head, regarding him carefully. Quentin finds it hard to meet her eye all of a sudden. "I told the others the short version," she says eventually. "Meaning: the two of you bonded, you're not dead or dying, the end."</p>
<p>"Oh. Okay." It's more of a relief than he expects, knowing that he won't have to explain it to any of them. He's not sure he could even begin to describe any of it. "You can let Julia in," he tells Margo. "She's, um... probably more likely to cuddle than throttle, right?"</p>
<p>"No promises," Margo says with a wink. She gives his hair one last gentle tug, then flounces out of the room.</p>
<p>Quentin pulls the sheets back and swings his shaky legs over the side of the bed. Everything happened so fast the night before that he didn't get a chance to tell Julia anything before the wolfsbane started working, and after that, he was— well. A little preoccupied. Still, he feels bad for leaving her hanging, for not giving her any explanation beyond Margo's word that he wasn't dead. And this wasn't even the first time Julia's watched him get hurt, not even the first time she's watched the Beast try and tear him to shreds. No wonder she's been hovering - Quentin should've reached out to her as soon as he woke up— </p>
<p>As if in response to the knot of worry forming in Quentin's chest, he feels Eliot's sleepy push again, brushing against his swirling thoughts. It's soft enough that he must still be asleep, but the barely-there touch is still enough to push back against for a moment before Eliot's presence slips back down into its baseline hum. Quentin breathes out, closes his eyes and waits for another nudge of gentle pressure until the door creaks open again.</p>
<p>Julia peeks around the doorframe, her face splitting into a smile as soon as Quentin looks up at her. It's a little wobbly, but mostly relieved as she approaches the bed. "Hey, Q," she says softly.</p>
<p>"Hey." Quentin reaches out for her hand automatically, drawing her down to sit next to him on the edge of the mattress. "You're not allowed to apologize again," he says, before she can even take a breath. "Seriously, I'm fine now— or I'm going to be, whatever. All that matters is that we're both okay." He squeezes her fingers. "Right?"</p>
<p>Julia lets out a long sigh, but nods. "Right, okay," she agrees. "So I'll skip over that, and get right into—" </p>
<p>Quentin yelps when she pinches his arm. "Ow, Jules, I'm <i>injured—</i>"</p>
<p>"I know you are, you asshole," Julia huffs at him, her eyes bright and fierce. "Don't you <i>ever</i> try to make me leave you behind again."</p>
<p>She looks so angry it shocks Quentin into silence for a moment, and he has to swallow hard before his voice will work. "Okay, I won't."</p>
<p>Gallantry is all fine and good, but he'd really just rather neither of them ever have to run for their lives ever again. He's not sure if that's something that'll ever really be up to him, but he can promise this, at least. "I won't," he repeats, quieter, holding her gaze. "I swear, Jules."</p>
<p>After a few seconds of hard staring, she seems satisfied, and her expression turns soft again. "You're sure you're okay?" she asks, smoothing her hand over the back of his wrist. There's blood dried there too, probably from pressing over the bite back at the warehouse. The wound still hurts, throbbing faintly - or more heavily, every so often. He's still a little lightheaded, still exhausted, still generally sticky and uncomfortable— but.</p>
<p>He can also feel Eliot drifting up again, brushing close to him for a moment like he's turning over in his sleep. When Quentin tentatively nudges back, he gets just a small note of something quiet in return, like tired contentment. Like soft, easy comfort that spreads through both of them.</p>
<p>Julia is still waiting for a response, her eyes searching his face. Quentin catches himself smiling when he tries to answer. "Yeah," he breathes, almost laughing, relief and disbelief and quiet warmth all at once. "I'm sure."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>As nice as it feels to wash off all the blood and sweat and grime, Quentin would really prefer to not make a habit of the best showers of his life always coming immediately after grievous injury. Still, even just being clean and in softer clothes makes him feel a lot less weak and achy, though he's already missing his pullover sweaters, and the ability to lift his left arm higher than 90 degrees. After a day and a half, and a lot of napping, he's healed enough to not only stand up without falling over, but make it down the stairs in one piece. Margo takes that as enough of a milestone to make good on her promise of rescheduling, and the pack gathers on the main floor that night for their only-slightly-belated Happy One Moon Cycle party.<p>'Party' kind of ends up being a strong word for it - it's really just dinner, with Quentin and Julia on the couch by the window with the others gathered around in pulled-up chairs or on the rug, sitting together while they wait for the meal to be ready. It wouldn't even be that different from a normal night if not for the sparkling garland of letters hung across the wall (<i>WELCOME HOME</i>, which made Quentin's heart clench for a good few seconds when he first saw it) and the balloons scattered around the floor - those that remain after Alice apparently stress-strangled a few of them, anyway.</p>
<p>It's not exactly low-energy, just a little… subdued, like they've all heaved such a heavy sigh of relief that no one has quite recovered yet. But it's still nice just to have the rest of the pack all so close, to hear their relieved laughter and the few lighthearted scoldings they press into his thoughts. There's sparkling water out of fancy crystal wine glasses brought up from the bar, and the promise of tiny cakes that Josh insists are still at peak moisture content after a couple nights in the fridge. Quentin can feel the intertwining threads between them buzzing pleasantly, almost as if they've been strummed. He's sure he could spend all night basking in the feeling.</p>
<p>If he wasn't extremely distracted by Eliot, that is.</p>
<p>Across the room from the rest of the pack, Eliot is fussing around in the kitchen with Margo, seemingly oblivious to Quentin's gaze wandering over to him. He was right about the blaring, full-body emotions felt through their bond softening down to something more manageable. Quentin can feel only the broad strokes of his mood in the back of his mind now - a contented hum, a little amusement, a flash of warmth when Margo steals a sip out of his glass that betrays the longsuffering look he shoots her.</p>
<p>For the most part it's been quiet, not much more than vague impressions brushing fleetingly against him, but Quentin still finds it hard to focus on anything else. Everything he picks up from Eliot feels so strange and unfamiliar, so obviously not his own. He can't help latching onto even the smallest sensations that come through and trying to decipher them. He wonders if Eliot can feel that, his curiosity - if he can, it sure isn't distracting him from whatever he's sautéing, or from whatever Margo's just said that made him grin, a little more warmth spilling over into Quentin.</p>
<p>He zones back into the conversation happening around him when Julia taps his arm, just in time to completely miss what everyone starts snickering at. "What?"</p>
<p>"You're about to drip," Alice says, reaching out for the glass in his hands, which Quentin then realizes is dangerously close to tipping its contents out into his lap. He hastily rights it, very nearly spilling it on the rug in the process.</p>
<p>Kady uses her sock to swipe up the handful of drops that escape. "Still feeling the blood loss, or what?" she asks, still laughing.</p>
<p>"I guess so," Quentin says weakly, as Julia takes the glass from him and sets it down on the floor instead. He tries his best to refocus his attention on their little circle and let Eliot's presence fade into the background - hopefully he can manage to avoid kicking the glass over, at the very least.</p>
<p>"It was pretty gruesome," Josh says, grimacing. He shakes his hands out gingerly, like they're still bloody. "But hey, at least we didn't have to hose down the backyard this time."</p>
<p>Penny rolls his eyes. "Yeah, just the stairs, and the railing, and the entire attic hallway," he says dryly, and turns to Quentin with a narrow look. "Can't you just get a paper cut or something? For once?"</p>
<p>Quentin gives him a halfhearted glare. "Sorry, I'll do my best to bleed less next time."</p>
<p>"If there's a next time, you're not gonna be allowed out of the house," Kady snorts.</p>
<p>Frowning, Quentin starts to protest - it's not like it's <i>his</i> fault someone keeps trying to gut him - but Julia cuts him off. "How did you guys even know where to find us?" she asks, glancing around the circle. "You showed up so fast, it was like you were just around the corner."</p>
<p>"Margo had sent Eliot and Penny out to retrace your steps," Alice explains. "We were already thinking you might have gotten lost after we got a look at the weird directions Josh gave you."</p>
<p>"It was the scenic route," Josh insists.</p>
<p>"We didn't have to go very far, though," Penny says, ignoring him and looking back at Julia. "Maybe a couple blocks, and then I heard Quentin freaking out, and that was loud enough to lead us right to you."</p>
<p>Quentin pauses halfway to bristling. "Wait, what?" He knows Penny can pick up thoughts easier than the others, but he still must have been at quite a range when Quentin and Julia got to the warehouse. Quentin doesn’t remember making an effort to reach out to the pack bond until they were attacked, and even then there was too much happening to actually get anything through. "You heard me?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, I fucking heard you," Penny huffs. "You showed up in my head with a goddamn megaphone, yelling about the Beast. I had a headache all night."</p>
<p>Kady nudges him hard with her foot. <i>He’s exaggerating,</i> she snickers in Quentin’s mind. <i>He was just worried about you.</i></p>
<p>"I heard that too," Penny gripes.</p>
<p>He sounds annoyed, but doesn’t really look it. Quentin has a hard time imagining Penny stressing out about his wellbeing, but he supposes weirder things have happened in the past couple days. And he doesn’t really want to think about what might have happened if Penny hadn’t been listening.</p>
<p>"Well— thanks," Quentin says, tentative but meaning it, and he even manages to hold Penny’s gaze when he glances up from the sour look he’s shooting at Kady. "I guess I’ll owe you one, for the headache."</p>
<p>Penny shrugs it off and looks away. "Whatever, don’t worry about it," he grumbles, but his disgruntled scowl seems a little forced. </p>
<p>"You know, staying home for a while might not be that bad of an idea," Alice says, a little hesitant when both Quentin and Julia turn to stare at her. "The Beast is almost definitely still somewhere in the city. Something tells me he wouldn't just leave after one failed attempt."</p>
<p>"Two attempts," Julia corrects dully, frowning when an uncomfortable wince makes its way around the circle. "But is staying in one place really any better? Who's to say he won't show up here next?"</p>
<p>"So we'll beef up security," Josh says. "Get some people on the lookout, reinforce the runes—"</p>
<p>Kady cuts him off with a dismayed sigh. "That might not be so easy. Marina definitely knows by now that three of her coven were mauled by a wolf. That kind of attack hasn't happened for years." She gives Julia an uneasy look. "On top of that, you and Quentin were there for it."</p>
<p>"It's not like we had anything to do with it," Quentin points out, brow furrowed, but Kady shakes her head.</p>
<p>"That's not the point. The Beast obviously isn't on our side, but the witches don't see it that way. To them, a wolf is a wolf."</p>
<p>"Kady's right," Eliot says, appearing behind them with Margo in tow. "Not to encourage this, frankly, depressing pre-dinner conversation, but I don't think we'll be playing the witch card for a bit." He keeps his voice light, but Quentin can feel a slight quaver of worry skimming under the surface. He imagines Eliot can probably feel the same thing from him.</p>
<p>Letting out another breath, Kady glances up at Margo. "The coven will probably be laying low for a while. We can try reaching out, but our relationship with Marina is kind of rocky at the best of times. I can't see her being willing to offer much help."</p>
<p>Margo crosses her arms with a scoff. "You say that like the runes are the only things keeping the assholes away from our door." She looks at Quentin and Julia on the couch, her eyebrows arched in conviction. "Nobody's ever gotten in here without my permission, and that's not about to change. If the Beast comes looking for you—"</p>
<p>"<i>When</i>," Quentin interrupts quietly. "<i>When</i> he comes looking." He feels the rest of the pack settling their eyes on him, and another anxious ripple from Eliot, but he's pretty sure the twist of unease in his gut is his own. "At the warehouse, before he escaped… he told me he'd come back for me."</p>
<p>It puts a bit of a chill in the air, and the circle is uncomfortably silent for a long moment until Margo breaks it with a sigh. "Look," she says, putting her hands on her hips and leaning closer - her gaze is determined when Quentin glances up at her, but almost soft at the same time. "I meant this before, and I mean it now: I'd love to see that motherfucker try." She looks so fiercely confident that Quentin finds it hard not to want to believe her.</p>
<p>After a second she smiles, the heat leaving her gaze. "Now come on, dinner's ready," she announces, turning and flapping her hands at the others, urging them up and herding them towards the kitchen. "We cooked it, so you're serving yourselves. Except you, Q," she adds, as Julia helps Quentin to his feet. "You can go sit, we'll bring it to you." </p>
<p>Quentin is confused until he catches the slightly worried dip of her gaze down to his shoulder and back up again, and only just manages to avoid rolling his eyes at her. "I think I can handle lifting a plate and a few forks, Margo."</p>
<p>"Shh, just let her have this," Eliot snickers, reaching out to beckon him and Julia toward the dining room. "She's planning to formally ground you both after dessert, so enjoy it while you can."</p>
<p>He drops his hand when Quentin gets close, brushing down his arm for half a second before he heads for the kitchen himself. Quentin gets lost for a moment following the edge of his smile and feeling out the warm, happy tinge that spreads through his mind like a drop of colour soaking in - but he pauses mid-step when Julia tugs on his arm.</p>
<p>"You're bleeding a little," she says, gently touching his shoulder blade.</p>
<p>"Am I?" Quentin frowns and reaches back to feel around for a wet spot. He can't remember making any sharp movement that could've tugged at the barely-scabbed punctures, but he also can't actually see the half of the bite that Julia is looking at. "I don't feel anything."</p>
<p>"It's only a bit. Come on, I'll help you clean it up." Despite her calm tone, Julia starts to lead him down the hall a little more urgently that Quentin expected. Another unfamiliar bit of worry floats over him, but he tries to ignore it - Margo must really have everyone thinking he's one handful of cutlery away from falling apart.</p>
<p>In the bathroom, Quentin gets halfway into the struggle with his shirt buttons before he glances in the mirror and sees Julia biting her lip. "Uh-oh. Is it worse than you said?"</p>
<p>She blinks at him for a moment, distracted. "What? No, it's— you're fine, it's not actually bleeding."</p>
<p>"Then why are we—" Quentin furrows his brow and lowers his hands. "Are you okay?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, I'm just…" Julia trails off, dropping her gaze, then takes a deep breath and seems to resolve herself to some internal decision. "Can I ask you something that's going to sound— probably kind of weird and needy?"</p>
<p>Nodding, Quentin watches her carefully. She crosses her arms like she's trying to keep from fidgeting, like she's nervous. "What is it?"</p>
<p>Julia presses her lips together for a long second before she looks up at him again. "Why didn't you ask me to bond with you?"</p>
<p>Quentin opens his mouth and then closes it, thrown. He's honestly not sure of the answer. In hindsight, becoming mates with Julia - his best friend, his <i>constant</i> - makes more sense than bonding with anyone else in the pack. But in the moment, she hadn't even crossed his mind.</p>
<p>"I would have done it," Julia goes on. She's the one looking careful, now. "You know that, right?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, of course," Quentin says quickly, still trying to recover. "I just— honestly, Julia, I didn't think about it."</p>
<p>A conflicted expression crosses her face, her brows pinching together. "But you thought about Eliot."</p>
<p>It's not accusatory, but Quentin feels defensive anyway, something squirming in his chest. "No, it wasn't like— Margo brought it up, and Eliot offered, and we just— it just happened."</p>
<p>"I get that," Julia says, still cautious. "I'm not— hurt, or jealous or anything, I just… I want to make sure you know what it means." She steps closer, uncrossing her arms to reach out for Quentin's hand. "It's basically marriage, Q. It's a commitment."</p>
<p>Quentin looks down at her fingers wrapping around his. Margo had said something like that too, when she asked if he was sure. No take-backs. "I know, but it's not— like, yeah, we're bonded, but..." He lifts his free hand to his injured shoulder - maybe not bleeding at present, but the skin is still tender like a bruise where he presses. "It was only because of this."</p>
<p>Julia's eyes linger after he lets go, like she can see the bite through his shirt. "Only to save your life, you mean."</p>
<p>"Yeah." Quentin shrugs weakly. "So it's just— it's, like, a marriage of convenience, or whatever." Granted, he and Eliot haven't really talked about it - or anything else since that night, actually - but Quentin has been picking up impressions from Eliot the whole time, no matter how many rooms away he is. Though he can't always interpret Eliot's mood, Quentin is pretty sure he hasn't felt anything like burning regret or disappointment.</p>
<p>Of course, he could be wrong, now that he's thinking about it. But he pushes that thought away when Julia looks back up at him, her expression tentative and almost sad.</p>
<p>"Q," she starts, soft in a way that makes him immediately suspicious, "you know that if you ever... meet someone, you won't be able to—"</p>
<p>Something in Quentin's chest squirms uncomfortably, and he cuts her off before he can think too hard about it. "It's fine, Jules. It's not like we can go out and get, like, a magic werewolf divorce, or whatever, so— I don't think that's really worth worrying about." He gives her the most reassuring smile he can muster up, pressing his hand over hers. "The bond did what we needed it to, right? That's what matters. In a couple days, I'll probably even have back all the blood I lost."</p>
<p>"That's not funny," Julia says, but she drops it, smiling back like she can't help it - and then insists on checking over the bite herself for good measure before they head back out.</p>
<p>Quentin is glad to find the quiet and comfortable atmosphere right where they left it when they rejoin the others in the dining room. Julia settles between Kady and Penny, definitely more relaxed than she was before. Quentin has a harder time taking his own words to heart, though, and when he feels Eliot's eyes on him and something like curiosity trickling across the gap, he can't quite make himself meet his gaze.</p>
<p>It's not like he lied to Julia about how things stand between him and Eliot where the bond is concerned. He can't <i>not</i> be aware that Eliot only offered to be his mate to keep him from bleeding out. And he appreciates it, of course. Not being dead is obviously ideal.</p>
<p>The thing is that part of him also feels guilty. Whether or not their bonding was about convenience or life-saving measures, the outcome is that Eliot is connected to him now, is <i>part of him</i>, permanently. And while maybe for Quentin it's not so bad, he hasn't been thinking about Eliot's side of things, or the inevitable flipside to Julia's worry - being bonded to Quentin means that Eliot, too, has barred himself from ever finding a real mate. He's given up his chance to share this connection with someone he actually, like, <i>loves</i>, and instead, he has to— what, hang out with Quentin for the rest of his life?</p>
<p>Quentin had only just started being able to imagine a future for himself in the pack, and of course Eliot would be part of that future, but the mate factor adds an extra layer to it that he can't quite see through yet. Meanwhile, any plans that Eliot had for himself have almost certainly been derailed because of him. And even though Eliot made pretty clear his stance on his true mate prospects, Quentin can't help feeling bad about that, too. He wonders how many other possibilities he's stolen from Eliot just by agreeing to this.</p>
<p>Of course there isn't really anything to be done about any of it, but that doesn't stop Quentin thinking about it all through dinner, and feeling guilty all the way up to the attic once the last of the tiny cakes are gone. At that point, at least he can pretend it's a product of Margo's stern insistence that he and Julia stay in the house for a few days - he can't quite muster up the same indignation as Julia, but it still keeps the others from questioning why he heads upstairs so early.</p>
<p>Julia has been staying in Kady's room while Quentin recovers, so he still has the attic bedroom to himself for now. A small mercy, even if changing into pajamas unassisted is a challenge. He's sure that she'd be able to read him easily, and he'd much rather deal with struggling into a t-shirt than explain to her how his certainty that he and Eliot are on the same page dissolved so quickly.</p>
<p>He supposes it's because he's so deep in the gnawing guilt about being able to feel Eliot's presence that he doesn't notice it growing closer. When the knock at his door snaps him back to himself, he knows before it opens that Eliot is on the other side.</p>
<p>Quentin sits up in bed - he hadn't gotten under the covers yet, too busy staring at the arched ceiling and worrying himself in circles. Once Eliot steps into his room, though, he remembers that the bond works both ways, and wonders if Eliot could feel his anxiety from downstairs. It seems likely, from his furrowed brow and the hint of concern Quentin can feel prodding at the back of his mind. A new twist of guilt works its way into Quentin's stomach at the thought, and confusion flickers through Eliot at the same time.</p>
<p>It's not like sharing thoughts, which takes conscious effort and direction through the pack bond. With the mate bond, Eliot seems to be able to pick up emotions whether Quentin wants him to or not, and vice versa. Quentin figures Eliot probably isn't ecstatic about someone else feeling his slowly growing worry, either.</p>
<p>"Hey," Eliot says, a little hesitant, like seeing Quentin somehow isn't what he expected. "You okay?"</p>
<p>Quentin nods sheepishly, pushing his hair out of his face. "Yeah, I'm— I'm fine. Sorry about the…" He trails off, gesturing vaguely at the side of his head. Another glance at Eliot reveals he's still in his clothes from the day, although tie-less and his vest is mostly undone. "Was I keeping you up?"</p>
<p>"It's barely midnight," Eliot scoffs, and after another second of hesitation, he shuts the door and crosses to the bed. Quentin pulls his knees up and Eliot sits on the edge beside him, crossing his legs with a sigh. "You, however, need all the rest you can get. I thought you came up here to go to bed early."</p>
<p>"I did," Quentin says weakly. "I just... got distracted."</p>
<p>Eliot gives him a long look that's somehow harder to read than his mood. "You're upset."</p>
<p>It's not a question. Quentin supposes it doesn't need to be, since Eliot can literally feel the guilt and worry twisting together in his chest - although it's loosening now that Eliot is with him. He figures Eliot is waiting for an explanation, though, and latches onto his excuse.</p>
<p>"It just sucks being grounded," he sighs, trying to sound more frustrated than he really feels about it. "It's not like we're stupid enough to go back to the scene of the crime, or wander around alone, or whatever, but Margo put us under house arrest anyway."</p>
<p>"It's more like witness protection," Eliot points out wryly, but he quickly softens, leaning a little closer to catch Quentin's eye. "It's not meant to be punishment, Margo just wants to keep you both safe. And you're still recovering."</p>
<p>Quentin rotates his achy shoulder with a pout. "I'm basically fine, now. I'm not bed-ridden."</p>
<p>"Not only from the bite," Eliot says, almost faltering all of a sudden. "I mean from our... cooperative out-of-body experience."</p>
<p>"Oh," Quentin says. "Right." It feels weird to breach the subject so casually when it feels like they've been talking around it since it happened. "Well, it's not— I mean, I know what's… what's me, and what's you. For the most part, anyway." He tucks his hair behind his ear again, inexplicably nervous. "You're, um. Pretty distinct."</p>
<p>Eliot huffs a quiet laugh that breaks the tension trying to settle over them. "Thanks, I try."</p>
<p>He reclines on the bed, ending up mostly sideways, facing Quentin while propped up on his elbow with one leg still hanging off the edge of the mattress. "As long as we aren't getting mixed up, it should be fine," he says with a small shrug. "So if you're up here and I'm down at the bar, and you catch yourself feeling angry at nothing, you can relax knowing it's probably just because Todd has walked in."</p>
<p>Quentin bites back a grin. "I don't think Todd will ever talk to you again, since you told him to fuck off at the Council meeting."</p>
<p>"God, if only," Eliot groans, dramatically forlorn for a moment before he looks back at Quentin. "Just keep in mind that there still might be some overlap, or… side effects." </p>
<p>At Quentin's frown, he waves a placating hand. "Nothing major, just— some of the bonded wolves I knew when I was younger could sort of... borrow from each other, for extra strength or energy. Or to heal," he adds, eyes drifting to Quentin's shoulder and then back up again, head tilting. "Granted, they were all born wolves. It might be different for you."</p>
<p>"Different how?" Quentin asks, still frowning. A strangely thrilling thought crosses his mind. "Am I gonna be able to shift?"</p>
<p>Eliot snorts. "Maybe if you get really pissed? I honestly don't know. You could ask Alice if she's heard of any non-alpha managing it."</p>
<p>Humming, Quentin tries to imagine how it would feel to become a wolf, to run free all night under the moon, to lose himself in that… "Huh. It would be a weird bonus, I guess."</p>
<p>"Well, you have to take what you can get, I suppose," Eliot sighs, a little more dry than Quentin expects. "Being the mate of a born wolf is not quite as prestigious as it's made out to be."</p>
<p>A faint press of something hazy and dark has Quentin furrowing his brow, caught between trying to bring the feeling closer or push it away. "I— I didn't mean..."</p>
<p>"It's fine," Eliot says flippantly, waving his hand again. "We both jumped into this headfirst, and we'll both have to deal with— whatever comes of it. Side effects or no." He shifts over to lie down on his back with his head near Quentin's hip, and looks up at him with a wry smile. "And hey, it could be worse, right? You could be doing this with Penny."</p>
<p>Quentin isn't sure if the haziness recedes or if he just gets distracted by Eliot's smirk, but either way, he smiles back before he can help it. "Yeah, right," he snickers before flopping down as well. "Penny wouldn't have offered." </p>
<p>He shimmies himself lower on the bed so he's level with Eliot - they've ended up closer to the middle of the mattress rather than up by the pillows, but even with his arms tucked into his chest and his legs curled up to avoid kicking Eliot's out of the way, Quentin doesn't really want to move. Eliot has turned his face upwards and his eyes are closed, but there's still a smirk playing on his lips.</p>
<p>"I don't think I ever thanked you," Quentin says quietly.</p>
<p>Eliot frowns at the ceiling. "For what?"</p>
<p>"For— saving my life?" And for giving up so much in the process, but Quentin doesn't think he could get those words past his tongue. Thinking about Eliot trading his future for Quentin's sake makes guilt coil up tight within him again - and Eliot must be able to feel it, because he rolls onto his side to give Quentin an incredulous look.</p>
<p>"You don't need to thank me for that," Eliot says, and he's not exasperated like Quentin expects, but— soft, just for a moment, before his expression smooths out. "All the others would have done the same thing. Or— well, maybe not Penny, but he would've felt really awful afterwards."</p>
<p>He waits until Quentin musters up a weak smile before he sighs and shifts a little closer, lowering both his voice and his gaze. "And… look, it's really not so bad, having you in my head a bit more," he admits, then shrugs one shoulder. "It's not like I gave up a limb, or something."</p>
<p>He's not wrong about that, but Quentin isn't sure if Eliot giving up his chance to bond with someone he loves instead was much of a better deal.</p>
<p>"What about your true mate?" he mumbles, only remembering Eliot's steadfast disdain for the idea when he practically laughs in response.</p>
<p>"Why are you so hung up on that?" Eliot asks, turning onto his back again to roll his eyes at the ceiling. "I told you before, I don't have one. Nobody's going to come fight you for the honour, or whatever."</p>
<p>Quentin feels a pang of something sad that he can't quite place— is that his, or Eliot's? "But in the story, all born wolves—"</p>
<p>"The story probably isn't all that accurate," Eliot says, and he does sound exasperated now. "Even you couldn't make full sense of it, and it's not like there's anyone around here who can explain what to look for, beyond— what, a tractor beam and a spotlight?"</p>
<p>Upsetting as it is, Quentin has to admit that's a fair point. There wasn't much clarity to the description of true mates, let alone instruction on how they're found. Even if they asked Alice, she'd probably want to know where the story came from, and Eliot seems about as keen on revealing his past to the others as he is about seeking out his potential destined mate. But the thought still twinges.</p>
<p>Some part of that conflict must spill across the gap between them, because after a moment, Eliot sighs out the rest of his irritation and turns his head to look at Quentin again. "It doesn't matter, Q. Especially not now." He reaches up with one hand to knock his fingers against Quentin's where they're clenched in the sheets, more tightly than he realized. "Whether or not you're going to hulk out the next time you and Penny bicker is much more deserving of your concern."</p>
<p>Quentin manages to smile, loosening his fingers under Eliot's touch. "I guess that <i>would</i> be more helpful if the Beast shows up again," he jokes.</p>
<p>Eliot returns the look, but it only lasts a second before his brow furrows. "Earlier, you said he spoke to you."</p>
<p>"Yeah, just before he, uh, went out the window," Quentin says, grimacing a little. "It was in my head. I guess since he's an alpha, he can get through to anyone. But, um… he just said—"</p>
<p>"Why didn't you let me go after him?" Eliot's eyes are still on him and his voice is almost soft, but the question nearly startles Quentin anyway.</p>
<p>He's not… quite sure of the answer, actually. It wasn't just because he needed someone to carry him down the stairs - that probably didn't even cross his mind. He only remembers watching Eliot shiver in pain as he tried to transform, feeling the bones in his hand tremble when he reached out to him. Quentin looks down, avoiding his curious gaze. "You said you don't shift anymore," he starts, but Eliot interrupts him.</p>
<p>"Meaning that while I'd rather not, I still can if the need arises," he says, but he doesn't sound upset, just... unsure. "But you stopped me."</p>
<p>And Quentin did, didn't he? In that moment, even with agony ripping through his shoulder, even half-blind with panic and blood, he looked at Eliot trembling and all Quentin could think about was what he said on the full moon about things he learned the hard way.</p>
<p>"You told me it hurts," Quentin says haltingly. "I just... I didn't want you to go through that again."</p>
<p>He doesn't realise just how true it is until it's out of his mouth and settling in the quiet space between them. He feels something in Eliot's mood shift, almost softly, but it comes across too vague for Quentin to bring it into focus. He risks a glance up at Eliot's face instead, hoping his expression might be easier to read, but as soon as their eyes catch there's a sharp turn in the back of Quentin's mind, and a split second of— panic, or dread, or <i>something—</i></p>
<p>But Eliot turns his head away again, and the feeling is gone before Quentin can even finish deciphering what it was. "Well," he says, sounding almost bored, "I appreciate not having to start my Days Since Last Shift count over from zero, I guess. So thanks for that."</p>
<p>Quentin barely manages to frown in confusion before Eliot sits up and slides to the edge of the bed to get his feet back on the floor. "What— where are you going?" Quentin asks, sitting up himself.</p>
<p>"Downstairs," Eliot says, like it's obvious. "To my own bed. Yours is cramped enough without me taking up half of it."</p>
<p>That's another good point, but Quentin still doesn't understand what caused the abrupt change. "Well, I— I mean, I don't... mind," he tries. They managed well enough a couple nights ago, didn't they? He's just taking a breath to say as much when Eliot sighs and finally glances back at him.</p>
<p>"Look, Q— I know that with the bond, things are obviously a little... different now," Eliot says slowly. It's quite the understatement, considering Quentin can practically feel how carefully he's choosing his words. "But nothing else between us really has to be," he goes on. "I think it's best if we act like nothing's changed."</p>
<p>Quentin stares at him, feeling like he missed a step. "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"For example," Eliot says, smoothing his had over the edge of the sheets, "we kept separate beds before we bonded, so we should still keep them now." He meets Quentin's puzzled gaze with a tight smile before he stands up. "We don't want to get confused."</p>
<p>The words take a second to sink in, and by the time Quentin manages to speak again, Eliot is halfway to the door. "Oh," he forces out, and isn't really sure what else he's supposed to say.</p>
<p>Is that all this is? The mate bond— confusing him, making him want to be close to Eliot? At least this time, Quentin knows that the abrupt turn from confusion to embarrassment is his own. He can feel something from Eliot too, something conflicted, but it doesn't match the unaffected expression he's put on - probably for Quentin's benefit, if Eliot can feel the mortification spreading through him. "Right," he says, swallowing hard. "Um. Okay."</p>
<p>"We'll just let things settle a bit more," Eliot says, still with that tight smile. "And, again, we're still going to be in each others' heads, but other than that—"</p>
<p>"Nothing's changed," Quentin finishes, trying hard not to mumble. "Yeah, that's… probably a good idea."</p>
<p>Eliot has a hand on the doorknob by now. "Glad we're on the same page," he says - Quentin feels a strange urge to laugh that he hopes doesn't extend across the bond. "I'll... let you get to sleep, then."</p>
<p>Somehow Quentin still doesn't like the thought of him leaving, but he makes himself nod. At least once he's alone he'll be able to wallow in peace. Eliot looks back at Quentin one more time and almost seems to hesitate, but Quentin can hardly meet his gaze, let alone ask him what's up - so the moment passes. </p>
<p>"Goodnight, Q," he murmurs, and doesn't give Quentin a chance to say it back before he slips out into the hall.</p>
<p>As soon as Eliot closes the door behind him, Quentin flops back down on the bed and does his best to hold a wave of shame at bay. Eliot shouldn't have to feel all that just because Quentin got mixed up, after all. And he's right, of <i>course</i> he's right - they're still figuring this whole thing out, and sleeping in the same bed probably won't do much to help keep track of the boundary between them.</p>
<p>It takes him a while to notice he's just blinking in the dark, and even longer to realize he's keeping to one side of the mattress, leaving open the space Eliot was taking up. With a quiet huff, he shuffles over and purposefully flops down in the center of the bed, then curls up with the blankets around his ears, like that will somehow keep him from feeling anything else from Eliot - or projecting anything himself - and tries very hard to go to sleep.</p>
<p>Once the bond is more settled, hopefully it'll be easier to keep track of what he's <i>really</i> feeling, and what's just a side effect. In the meantime, if ignoring it and keeping things as close to normal as he can is the best way to make this easier for Eliot, then he'll do it. Surely Quentin can manage that much. Eliot's done enough for him already.</p>
<p>All jokes aside, Quentin really can't imagine trying to navigate the bond with any of the others, and as guilty as he feels about the whole thing, he's… glad, that Eliot is the one he's connected to. He just hopes Eliot feels the same, and that things really can go back to normal between them once they find some balance.</p>
<p>It takes some time for him to stop trying to force the thoughtless bliss of unconsciousness to descend on him and just let himself fall into it. As the vice grip he was using to direct his thoughts loosens, he wonders about overlap - Eliot made it sound like something to be careful to avoid, but Quentin isn't sure. He remembers how it felt when he and Eliot first connected. There were no side effects, no confusion, just him and Eliot and the single space they fit into. It didn't seem to matter that he wasn't sure where the line was between his emotions and Eliot's, where one ended and the other began.</p>
<p>If they could do that, Quentin thinks as he drifts off, they could definitely both fit into his bed, cramped or not. Even if he's not supposed to be wanting Eliot close to him. But he's asleep before he can remember that last part.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>folks................ happy american thanksgiving.<br/>in this chapter, the full moon rises once again.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There aren't many excuses that Margo accepts when it comes to being exempt from the daily chores of Haven's upkeep, and while a near-death experience is definitely one, it's apparently a one-time-use only. So Quentin finds himself roped into an afternoon of tidying the bar before they open for the evening, along with Julia, Alice, Josh and Penny. It's been closed for the few days following his and Julia's ill-fated bakery excursion, and that's apparently as good an excuse as any to do a little more than the usual amount of sprucing up.</p>
<p>While Josh whistles his way through washing the front windows, Julia climbs up on the bartop to dust the chandeliers above, and Penny keeps one eye on her as he cleans the bottle-filled shelves behind the counter. Quentin can only give a blank look when asked about keg lines and pour spouts, so he's once again given a broom, and follows Alice around the bar as she wipes down the tables. It's definitely not as easy as sweeping the courtyard path had been, with all the chairs and table legs in the way requiring a lot more maneuvering and broom dexterity - but he's the one who wanted to stop being treated so delicately, so he doesn't complain, even if it does feel a little vindictive.</p>
<p>Overall, it's not such a bad way to spend the afternoon. They keep the back door propped open to let in the breeze, and the sun slants in through the newly-cleaned windows as it dips lower. On top of that, having something to do keeps Quentin's mind occupied, preventing his thoughts from straying too far. Or at least, it does at first.</p>
<p>After a while, he feels Alice give him a tentative nudge through the bond, and finds she's gotten a few tables ahead of him without him noticing. "You okay?" she asks, paused leaning halfway across the tabletop.</p>
<p>She seems a bit more concerned than his slowed pace calls for. Quentin glances around to make sure there's no glaring mess that he's somehow missed. "Yeah, why?"</p>
<p>"You were just making a face," Alice says, straightening up with a frown. "I thought something was hurting."</p>
<p>"Oh." Quentin resists the urge to plaster on a grin to compensate. "Uh, no, I'm fine." His shoulder is more stiff than painful, now - it's been barely two days since Julia checked over the bite at their belated dinner party, but already most of the ragged teeth marks have scabbed over. The shallowest of them are practically healed, although they've left scars behind, which is a little weird. Quentin hasn't had a new scar for a very long time. But that's not what he was making a face about, and Alice still looks sort of worried.</p>
<p>"I'm just— thinking about the witch rendezvous," he sighs, which is mostly true, if a bit imprecise. "I know Kady said not to wait up, but I thought they'd be back by now."</p>
<p>"It <i>is</i> getting kind of late," Alice admits, glancing around at the sunlight coming in low through the windows. Quentin follows her gaze, and this time he feels the anxious twist on his lips.</p>
<p>The local coven had gone almost entirely radio silent since the Beast attack, but Kady managed to convince Marina to meet up with her and Margo to make an attempt to smooth things over. Even though Marina's chosen time-and-place was inconveniently early somewhere halfway across the city, Margo didn't want to give her any reason to change her mind on seeing them, so she, Kady, and Eliot had headed out that morning almost before sunrise to make their way over. Quentin had gotten up early to see them off, though he really wanted to be going with them.</p>
<p>He knows it makes sense for the rest of the pack to stay behind when things are so precarious with the witches - especially him and Julia - but he can't help feeling a little disappointed anyway. He also knows it's dumb to feel like his being left at home is connected to what Eliot said the night before last, about letting things settle, but— well, he hasn't really had a chance to talk to him about it since, and if Eliot picked up on his discontent that morning, he didn't say anything before they left.</p>
<p>It kind of feels like Eliot is avoiding him. Or maybe they've been spending just as much time together as they usually do - or usually did, before bonding anyway - and it just feels like less because Quentin is now so aware of Eliot, even when they're apart.</p>
<p>He can still feel him now, in fact, even with half the city between them. Where the pack bond gets weaker at a distance, the mate bond apparently doesn't have the same limitations, and Quentin can feel Eliot's presence almost as if he were in the same room - though his exact mood is vague at the moment. Actually, Quentin hasn't been able to pick out anything specific all day. Rather than deterring him, it's just made him want to focus on the blurry impressions until he can read them properly - but that's why he's been trying to keep himself occupied with other things. Obviously, since he has to keep reminding himself, it's not working as well as he'd hoped.</p>
<p>"I still think we should have gone with them," Julia pipes up from atop the counter, glaring at the chandeliers that are now near-sparkling. Her dusting seems to have gotten a little vicious at the end and Penny is clearly trying not to sneeze as he helps her down. "We don't even know where they are. What if they need backup?"</p>
<p>"I'm pretty sure they can handle themselves against one witch," Quentin points out. Besides, if there's a threat that Margo can't handle, he doesn't think the rest of them will be much help, either.</p>
<p>Julia nearly scoffs. "There's no way Marina showed up by herself."</p>
<p>"Especially not now," Alice agrees, twisting the cloth in her hands. "I guess the witches aren't the only ones we need to worry about, either."</p>
<p>There's an uncomfortable pause while Quentin tries not to think about the Beast showing up again, and he figures the others are trying just as hard. After it stretches on for a few seconds, Julia turns to frown at Penny.</p>
<p>"Can you hear them right now?" she asks, almost accusatory. "Are they on their way back yet?"</p>
<p>"Hey, I'm not your personal two-way radio," Penny huffs, but he does close his eyes to check, furrowing his brow for a moment before shaking his head. "They're either too far, or being quiet on purpose."</p>
<p>"Maybe Quentin can tell," Alice says. Quentin gives her a bewildered look, but she returns it matter-of-factly, one eyebrow raised. "You and Eliot are connected. You can sense him, right?"</p>
<p>Both Penny and Julia turn to stare at him. Quentin clutches the broom handle like a shield. "Uh—"</p>
<p>"Well?" Julia urges. "What are they up to? Are they still with Marina?"</p>
<p>"It doesn't really work like that," Quentin says weakly. "I can't, like, <i>see</i> him, or— I can just... feel stuff, sometimes." At the moment, though, he's still not picking up anything specific. He wonders if he might be able to get an impression of where Eliot is, if he focused, like that time he'd almost felt their rooms overlap, but he's not sure he could concentrate with everyone watching him.</p>
<p>"So what do you feel?" Penny asks, crossing his arms. "Is he pissed, or what?"</p>
<p>"No, I— I don't know." Not pissed enough for Quentin to be able to pick it out, in any case. But his discomfort at being put on the spot must get through to Eliot somehow, because his presence finally shifts into focus a little - cautious curiosity brushing at the back of Quentin's mind, like Eliot is asking what's wrong.</p>
<p>It's an unexpectedly strong relief to feel something other than the cloudy, muted impressions Quentin has been sifting through all day, and he hopes Eliot can feel the calm reassurance that settles over him. It helps that Eliot also probably wouldn't have time to wonder about him if he were being set upon by witches, so that's a relief, too.</p>
<p>"I'm pretty sure he's fine," Quentin manages, when he realizes the others are still staring at him. "He's not mad, or hurt, or anything. Whatever they're doing, nobody's in trouble."</p>
<p>It's not much, but it seems to deflate everyone's worry a bit. "Well, even Marina must hate rush hour," Alice tries, her smile only a little weak. "So they must be on their way back by now."</p>
<p>It doesn't take long to finish tidying up after that, and soon enough Josh comes over to officially release them from duty, insisting he can handle Haven's early evening crowd by himself until Margo gets back. While he goes to open the front doors and Julia and Alice gratefully head upstairs, Quentin opts to stay down in the bar for a while. Eliot has drifted out of focus again, and Quentin is already having a hard time not prodding curiously at every hazy impression. He knows he should leave it alone, especially while Eliot is out doing something important, but it's much easier to berate himself than it is to actually keep his mind on anything else.</p>
<p>He settles on a couch near the end of the room to watch the bar fill up, hoping that the presence of other wolves to will give him enough to focus on that his thoughts don't wander. To his surprise, Penny settles in the cushy seat across from him, not looking especially happy to be there, but he grumbles something about babysitting duty when Quentin gives him a weird look. Quentin suspects it's either a standing order from Margo or a special request from Julia - both options equally annoying, but he has to admit that sitting alone isn't exactly preferable. Having so many strangers around is still a little intimidating, and Penny is at least familiar enough that Quentin can let himself relax.</p>
<p>Penny also brings two juice-filled whiskey glasses with him, so it's not all bad. As far as silent, semi-unwilling companions go, Quentin could do a lot worse.</p>
<p>His plan to just sit and people-watch starts off well enough - more than anything, it reminds Quentin just how little time he's spent downstairs over the past few weeks. A good portion of the current patrons must be regulars, but not many of them are familiar. There's a couple of wolves in one corner he thinks he might've seen at Lunar Council, and another talking to Josh at the bar that could be an alpha, and a blonde wolf that Quentin spends a good few minutes wondering why he recognizes— until he goes up to the counter, and Quentin abruptly remembers seeing him in the same place on the night of the full moon, leaning over it to talk to Eliot, the two of them smiling at each other.</p>
<p>Quentin looks away. It's a weirdly jarring memory, and he's still trying to push it out of his mind when he notices Penny staring at something over his shoulder, frowning just deep enough to be worrying. Before Quentin can ask what's wrong, the problem makes itself apparent as Todd appears beside them.</p>
<p>"Hey, guys," he greets, lifting one hand in a hesitant wave. Quentin is immediately apprehensive, but Todd seems sheepish, almost queasily so. And he doesn't have his friends with him this time. "How's it going?"</p>
<p>"We're alright," Quentin says stiffly, as Todd gives Penny an uncertain smile. Penny manages to make drinking juice look menacing, taking a long sip of his drink without breaking eye contact. Todd quickly looks back at Quentin instead.</p>
<p>"Look, I, uh— I wanted to say, I'm sorry for how things went at Lunar Council," he says in a rush, wincing as he goes. "I swear I didn't know the Beast thing was supposed to be a secret, and then the whole thing with Ess, I really didn't mean— I'm just. I'm really sorry, dude."</p>
<p>Quentin watches him fidget for a moment. He supposes it wasn't really Todd's fault things took a nosedive at the Council meeting, but he sure didn't help matters, either. Right now, though, Todd looks downright miserable. "Uh... okay," Quentin says, feeling awkward. "Great. Apology accepted, I guess."</p>
<p>Todd immediately brightens, but it only lasts a second before he furrows his brow again. "And can you... tell Eliot? That I'm sorry to him, too?"</p>
<p>Penny covers a laugh with a badly-timed cough. "Sure," Quentin says slowly, trying very hard not to crack. "You could probably tell him yourself, though. He's on his way."</p>
<p>"No, that's, uh," Todd says quickly, faltering as he glances around like he's worried Eliot is going to come up behind him. "That's fine, if you could just— yeah." He takes a step back as if about to leave, but hesitates. "Oh, and, um. One more thing."</p>
<p>"I'm not apologizing to Margo for you," Quentin says, but Todd doesn't cower like he expects - in fact, the fearful, almost awed look on his face seems more directed at Quentin, now. All the amusement drains out of him as Todd leans closer again.</p>
<p>"I heard about the witches," Todd says, hushed but wide-eyed, completely oblivious to Quentin's stomach sinking. "Was that really the Beast? Margo said he's tracking you, right? So was it—"</p>
<p>"Dude," Penny cuts him off, putting his glass down. "Are you serious?"</p>
<p>The force of his glare seems to snap Todd out of his excitement. "Oh— uh, right," he stammers, stumbling back. "Sorry, I'll— see you guys later—"</p>
<p>Quentin watches him scurry away with something cold in the back of his throat. He swallows to clear it and turns back to Penny. "So Margo's started spreading the word?" he asks, hoping it sounds more dry and casual than shaky.</p>
<p>"Not on purpose," Penny huffs, still glaring after Todd. "She wanted to leave you and Julia out of it."</p>
<p>Wishful thinking, Quentin supposes - judging by how things went at the Council, the whole bar probably knows about the attack by now, whether from Margo's confidences or from Todd's unfortunately tenacious curiosity. At least it's not a surprise this time. And Todd didn't immediately ask about his injury, so that, if nothing else, seems to have escaped the rumour mill.</p>
<p>"I guess it's better if people know," Quentin sighs. "I mean, the Beast is already in the city. If we can keep anyone else from being caught off guard, like the witches in—"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, the witches," a new voice drawls, cutting him off. A hand drops onto the back of the couch, a little too close to his shoulder for comfort. </p>
<p>Quentin looks up to see another vaguely familiar wolf - Pete, he remembers, eyes dropping to his weird business-y suit. One of the ones Eliot specifically told him was worth avoiding. There's another few wolves behind him, probably his packmates, all with equally sarcastic smirks - and blazers, for some reason. Like a weird law-school version of Todd's lacrosse team, except less friendly.</p>
<p>Pete comes around the couch with an almost simpering look, clucking his tongue. "Penny, don't tell me your pups don't know things stand with those freaks."</p>
<p>Penny's disdain is clear on his face. "Don't tell me you think you were invited to this conversation."</p>
<p>"Oh, come on," Pete laughs, glancing over his shoulder at his pack. "A couple witches? It was no great loss."</p>
<p>Quentin bristles, barely registering another brief press of concern from Eliot before he meets Pete's gaze with a glare. "They're still people."</p>
<p>"People who have historically done us zero favours," Pete says with a shrug. "Look, I know Margo is into the whole bipartisan thing, but the Beast clearly is not." He practically leers down at Quentin. "But I guess you know that firsthand."</p>
<p>"If you have something to say, say it and get lost," Penny growls.</p>
<p>Pete throws his hands up defensively. "Hey, I'm on your side here! I came over to wish you guys luck on your Beast-avoidance endeavors." </p>
<p>"You could help keep an eye out," Quentin suggests, trying to push past his annoyance. "You were at Lunar Council, you know he's a threat."</p>
<p>"Of course he is," Pete nearly scoffs. "Don't get me wrong, I'm <i>very</i> aware of his body count. I'm just not keen on being the next one added to it." He's talking loudly, almost more to the rest of the room than to Quentin or Penny - and most of the bar has gone quiet to watch them. "Personally, I think we should all be laying low until the Beast moves on."</p>
<p>Quentin clenches his fists. "Moves on?" he repeats, incredulous. "He's not going to just leave. He came here for a reason."</p>
<p>"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" Pete says, turning back to stare him down. "Aren't you the one who led him here?"</p>
<p>Quentin feels a flush creeping up his neck, but anger is rising just as fast, his hackles prickling as Pete takes a step closer.</p>
<p>"Here's what I think— the Beast clearly just wants to finish the job," Pete drawls, giving Quentin an unimpressed once-over. "Maybe we should let him."</p>
<p>Penny slams his glass down and stands up, startling Pete back a step. The other wolves in his pack lurch forward, growling, but Penny snarls right back. Quentin gets up too, blood boiling, and for a few tense seconds he thinks they're actually going to fight, someone is going to lunge across the gap with teeth and claws out—</p>
<p>"What the fuck is this?" Margo's voice rings out, and every head swivels to where she's framed in the front doorway, Kady and Eliot right behind her. She seems to be expecting a legitimate answer, hands on her hips as she takes in the scene, but when none of the wolves willingly give one, she squints across the bar at Josh behind the counter. "Did I or did I not leave you in charge?"</p>
<p>"You did," Josh calls weakly.</p>
<p>With a huff, Margo rolls her eyes at the ceiling and starts to cross the room. The crowd moves easily out of her way, and everyone she passes hurriedly turns around to get back to their conversations. She approaches the couch and stops between Penny and Pete, folding her arms imperiously. "You know the rules about starting fights," she says, a lot more calmly than Quentin expects. "You've got thirty seconds before I kick both of you."</p>
<p>"Don't look at me," Pete scoffs, pointing at Quentin and Penny. "They started it."</p>
<p>Penny looks ready to snap at his fingers. "I'm about to, if you don't get out of my face."</p>
<p>Raising his hands again, Pete gives Margo a placating look. "Honestly, I was just offering my point of view." </p>
<p>Anger rises like bile in Quentin's throat. He says it so casually, like he wasn't just unashamedly gleeful about the witch casualties, like he didn't just blame Quentin for all of this— but Quentin can't get the words out, burning too hot to do more than stand there and try to keep from shaking.</p>
<p>Luckily, Penny's voice works just fine. "Being spineless isn't a point of view, you fucking prick," he growls, and Pete has some response that Quentin doesn't hear - suddenly everyone is talking at once, Pete and Penny and Josh and the other wolves all overlapping until Margo puts both hands up and cuts them off.</p>
<p>"All of you, shut your traps," she barks, eyes flashing. It has the desired effect - not only on the argument, but the whole bar seems to go silent again, none of the patrons even pretending not to listen in. Margo turns on Penny and Quentin first. "You two, upstairs, now. Go with Kady, I'll handle this."</p>
<p>Quentin tries to protest, but his jaw is clenched too tight to say anything, and Margo doesn't seem willing to hear it anyway. She's already turned away to glare at the other wolves, so there's nothing to do but follow her orders, leaving her and Eliot with Pete, who looks a lot less cocky now.</p>
<p>Kady herds him and Penny down the hall and up the stairs silently, one hand on Penny's shoulder to stop him trying to look back. Part of Quentin feels bad that she and the others had to come back to this after what was probably already a stressful enough meeting with Marina - but another, angrier part of him is almost upset that they interrupted. He can feel his fingertips tingling, like his claws are still longing to come out.</p>
<p>They're met by Julia and Alice at the top of the stairs, both looking concerned. "We heard growling and yelling," Alice says, glancing worriedly between them. "What's going on?"</p>
<p>Penny huffs, pulling out of Kady's grasp. "Pete can go fuck himself, that's what."</p>
<p>"Pete was talking shit, as usual," Kady translates, nudging both him and Quentin away from the stairs. "We got back just in time to prevent baby's first barfight."</p>
<p>Julia immediately turns on Quentin, eyes wide and incredulous. "You <i>fought</i> him?"</p>
<p>"I wish I did," Quentin grumbles, still seething. "He's an asshole. I can't fucking believe people were defending him."</p>
<p>"Cowards," Penny growls. "All that bullshit about laying low—"</p>
<p>"Look," Kady sighs, cutting them off, "this isn't helping. Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to go down and shut him up myself, but Margo's taking care of it. You need to chill out."</p>
<p>Alice puts a tentative hand on Quentin's arm. "Maybe you should both just go upstairs for a bit."</p>
<p>But Quentin is shaking his head before she even finishes speaking, shrugging her off and planting himself at the top of the stairs. "No way, I'm staying right here." He's not sure what Margo's version of 'taking care of it' is, but it better not be anything less than Pete having his ass kicked. </p>
<p>Penny also stays put, standing beside him with his arms crossed as he glares down the stairwell. Quentin is pretty sure they're equally pissed about this - which is a weird thing to connect on, but for now, it's just vindicating to have someone on his side.</p>
<p>He ignores Alice and Julia hovering around behind them, until eventually Kady draws them both into the kitchen, though Quentin can still feel their eyes on him. He does his best to focus on Eliot instead, feeling around for their connection, reaching out to the presence he knows is still down in the bar with Margo. He just wants to get some idea of what's going on - but the only clear emotion he can feel is his own infuriation still burning through him, with a new twist of shame when he thinks about the implications of the situation.</p>
<p>He'd been worried after Lunar Council that there would be other wolves like Ess, wolves that thought the Beast wasn't as much of a threat as Margo was making him out to be. Pete at least seemed to understand how dangerous he is, but his insistence that they could just wait for the whole thing to blow over, like the Beast is some sort of summer storm— that might be worse. And how many other wolves see it same way? How many others don't think the Beast is their problem? The idea coils darkly in the pit of Quentin's stomach, mixing badly with the rage still simmering there.</p>
<p>After what feels like an hour but is probably only a few minutes, Margo and Eliot finally make their way upstairs. "It's sorted," Margo calls from halfway up, waving Penny off before he can even open his mouth. "Todd was your expert witness, he told us everything Pete said."</p>
<p>"Including all the things he was less-than-willing to reiterate himself," Eliot adds, a little too annoyed to come off as wry as he probably means to. "Can't imagine why he'd be so shy around you, Bambi." </p>
<p>"A mystery," Margo agrees, tossing her hair back with a not-quite-innocent smile. "Anyway, he's set straight now, and by that, I mean his ass is banned." At the top step she stops with her hands on her hips, raising her eyebrows expectantly as she looks between Penny and Quentin. "Everybody happy?"</p>
<p>"It's not just Pete," Penny grumbles. "There are other jackasses down there who think the same thing."</p>
<p>Margo shrugs. "Well, they don't have an excuse now that Pete has so kindly reminded them where the door is."</p>
<p>Quentin feels a spike of frustration at her nonchalance, but he barely gets one syllable out before she talks over him. "We don't need a rift right now," she says firmly. "The shithead of the day has been dealt with, but our priority is still the Beast. Hold whatever grudges you want, just don't let it cause any more problems until we get rid of the bigger threat. Okay?"</p>
<p>She gives them each a hard look, lingering a little longer on Quentin. He still wants to argue, but he knows there's no point if Margo's made her decision. After a moment, he forces out a breath and nods. Penny does the same a second later and Margo smiles, patting both of their shoulders. "Great, good talk. Now, everybody go cool off."</p>
<p>Quentin just manages to suppress a scoff at the thought. That's way easier said than done, especially for someone who only arrived to break things up. Still, he works on actively unclenching his fists while Margo beckons Alice to follow her back down to the bar, and makes himself turn away from the stairs so he's not tempted to follow.</p>
<p>Kady and Julia both tug a still-grumbling Penny off towards the wide windows, and then out onto the balcony above the courtyard, sliding the glass door shut behind them. Quentin turns from them as well, and crosses the room instead to throw himself down into a chair in the dining room with a huff. He doesn't notice he's been followed until Eliot pulls out the chair across from him.</p>
<p>"Well," Eliot sighs, sitting down and folding his hands on the table, "of all the things we expected to come home to, you and Penny on the same side of a fight was pretty low on the list." Quentin knows he's just trying to lighten the mood, but he can't muster up much more than a weak glare, still simmering in his frustration. Eliot returns the look cheerily. "Pete definitely left with his tail between his legs, if that helps."</p>
<p>It does, a little bit. Quentin relishes the image, but it stokes a fresh wave of ire when he thinks of what Pete <i>really</i> deserved. It wasn't an even fight, and probably would've gone badly if Margo and the others had arrived any later, but surely decking Pete just once would have been worth it.</p>
<p>"Hey," Eliot says, quieter, drawing him out of his thoughts. "If you keep steaming like this, you really are going to shift. Right here on the hardwood."</p>
<p>For a moment, Quentin can feel Eliot's worry brushing against him, soft but unmistakable. He holds onto the anger for a moment longer, then purposefully lets it go, pushing it out with a long breath. All that's left underneath it is exhaustion, and somewhere behind that, the faint sense of Eliot's relief. Quentin tries to focus on that instead of the last prickles of annoyance.</p>
<p>When he looks up again, Eliot is smiling, tilting his head at him. "You okay?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Quentin sighs, leaning his elbows on the table. Talking about it any further would probably just make him mad again, and Eliot has already heard everything Pete said anyway… but still, the urge is there. "Can you just, like, distract me, or— tell me about the meeting with Marina, how did that go?"</p>
<p>"About as testily as expected," Eliot says with a shrug. "It's going to take more than a brunch date to regain her trust. After some persuading, she did agree to talk to the coven, though. They'll meet with us again after the full moon."</p>
<p>"Oh." The full moon is only a couple days away, now that Quentin thinks about it. Losing half a week to recovery certainly messed up his sense of time. "To talk about the Beast, I guess?"</p>
<p>Eliot nods. "No promises on how that'll go, but it's about as much as we dared hope for. In the meantime, there isn't a lot to be done aside from preparing for the moon - we'll be going without Witches' Brew this time around, unfortunately." He grimaces a little. "It seemed kind of tactless to ask."</p>
<p>Quentin snickers - apparently just the reaction Eliot was waiting for, judging by his grin. It dims after a moment, though, and when he looks down at his folded hands, Quentin can feel a twinge of something almost sad.</p>
<p>"Sorry for not inviting you along," Eliot says eventually. "We weren't sure how the witches were going to react to us, even if we were offering condolences, and... I didn't want to take any chances."</p>
<p>"It's okay, I get it," Quentin mumbles, shrugging one shoulder. "You're right, it might've caused more harm than good, so..." He does feel a little better about it though— or maybe that's more to do with how he can feel Eliot's mood clearly again, the pang of regret underneath his playful calm. </p>
<p>"Well, you might have avoided a run-in with Pete, if nothing else," Eliot sighs, then gives Quentin a curious look, the smile returning to his face. "But it <i>was</i> interesting to feel you get so pissed off."</p>
<p>Quentin drops his gaze, sheepish. Of course, the connection goes two ways, and Eliot probably felt every moment of his anger. He can't decide if it's more embarrassing or awkward. "Right, um— sorry about that."</p>
<p>Eliot huffs a laugh. "It's fine, Q," he assures him, reaching across the table. "<i>I'm</i> sorry you didn't get to watch Margo tear him a new asshole." Quentin manages a smile at that, unfolding his arms and resting his hand next to Eliot's.</p>
<p>"And it didn't feel— <i>bad</i>, you know," Eliot goes on, almost absently. His eyes are lowered when Quentin looks up. Their fingers are almost touching. "Just... weird. Like there was heat radiating from you. I could feel it even across the room."</p>
<p>Quentin turns his hand over without really thinking about it, and watches Eliot's fingers slide across his palm - slow, like he's not aware he's doing it. The last time they touched like this, his grip was tighter, pressing hard against the cut on Quentin's hand. Quentin can't see the line of that scar anymore, but he remembers where it was, knows exactly when Eliot's fingers pass over it - though for a moment, he's not sure whose skin he's feeling, Eliot's or his own against it.</p>
<p>He comes back to himself with a jolt, abruptly remembering what Eliot said about getting mixed up, about getting confused. They're supposed to be minding the boundary between them, not purposefully crossing it— but Quentin still has a hard time pulling his hand away. Eliot seems to remember the same thing a second later though, and a weird prickle of guilt passes over him as he takes his hand back.</p>
<p>"Well, I think I'll go relieve Bambi of her duty," he says, a little too quickly to be casual, but his expression smooths out as he stands up, and he even flashes Quentin a smile. "She's worked hard tonight, after all."</p>
<p>"Right," Quentin manages, folding his arms back up again, making sure to grip his elbows tightly with both hands. "Yeah, of course. I won't keep you."</p>
<p>Eliot straightens his vest and heads for the stairs, but the guilt stays at the table with Quentin. Part of it is definitely his own, curling up in the vacated space in the pit of his stomach. He hates feeling like he's driving Eliot away, but it keeps happening, he keeps forgetting himself and losing track of things. Eliot's friendship is too important to strain or lose over something like this, so why can't he just keep it together?</p>
<p>Once Eliot disappears down into the bar, Quentin sits by himself for a while, getting his thoughts back in order, trying to keep them from following Eliot downstairs. It's somehow even harder than before to find something else to focus on. Maybe he should just go up to his room and go to bed before he manages to mess up anything else.</p>
<p>Instead of moving, though, Quentin watches Kady, Julia, and Penny through the windows, where they're still standing together on the balcony. He can't tell if they're talking - Kady and Penny are facing away, and he can't hear them through the glass - but Julia is smiling at something, her face flushed. Quentin sees Penny cross his arms, and then Kady tugs on his hand until he uncrosses them, and Julia ducks her head almost shyly. Kady reaches out to her too, palm up— but Quentin turns away then, feeling guilty all over again as he retreats upstairs.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>Quentin isn't sure how many more of Haven's regulars might share the same view as Pete and his pack, but he's not keen to find out, and so refrains from going down to Haven for the next couple days in an effort to avoid another confrontation. He tells himself that's the reason he's staying upstairs, anyway. The fact that Eliot is spending most of his time behind the bar has nothing to do with it.<p>He still can't really ignore Eliot's presence in his mind, and the scape of his mood doesn't change much, either. It kind of fades through several things as he, Quentin assumes, serves different patrons, or shares a joke with Margo or Josh, or gets frustrated with Todd - nothing especially strong, positive or negative. Quentin gets familiar enough with the routine of it that it doesn't even distract him anymore, or at least not enough to make him lose track of anything more than a few minutes at a time.</p>
<p>In fact, when he snaps back to himself standing in the kitchen with a mug in his hands and Margo waving her fingers in front of his nose, more than anything he's just relieved his tea is still warm. Still, he welcomes her offer of a way to spend the afternoon before the full moon rises, and follows her up to the loft looking forward to having something to focus on.</p>
<p>He wasn't convinced at first that it was a good idea to host Haven's usual event this cycle, but Margo insisted that nobody, monster alpha or not, was stupid enough to show up to a party full of wolves all hyped up on the moon overhead and expect it to go well for them. Quentin couldn't really argue with that. The Beast seems more likely to try and catch them off-guard anyway, or to get him and Julia alone again, and attacking Haven probably isn't the ideal for either goal.</p>
<p>It would be nice if the Beast was that stupid, though. At least then there wouldn't be as much suspense about when he's going to make his move. But for tonight, Quentin is trying not to worry about that.</p>
<p>He isn't sure what he really expects Margo to come up with for their afternoon together, but sitting on her bed with a bottle of wine and pregaming isn't quite it. As she pours them each a glass, Margo insists that it's technically a ritual, one to inspire a party-primed outlook - even if the wine won't have any real effect. The taste is strong enough that Quentin thinks it just might get him tipsy, though, or maybe he just hasn't had alcohol in a while.</p>
<p>Either way, it <i>is</i> pretty fun to sit with her and drink and gossip about the alphas she dislikes, which of them may or may not be in attendance that night, and how many she owes an 'I told you so' to - to the point where Quentin almost forgets the event they're talking about is only a couple hours away.</p>
<p>"Don't they need you downstairs?" he eventually asks, when the bottle is more than half gone. "Isn't there, like, kind of a lot to get done before moonrise?"</p>
<p>But Margo waves him off. "Eliot can handle it. He knows we're busy."</p>
<p>Quentin blinks. "Does he? I mean— me too?"</p>
<p>"Of course," Margo says, smirking over the rim of her glass. "You can feel him right now, can't you?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, he's downstairs." Quentin barely has to reach out to tell that Eliot is still at the bar - not serving drinks yet, it's still a little too early for that, but he's with— Alice, it feels like, and they're probably setting things up, or doing more Josh-appointed tidying. "So what?"</p>
<p>Margo rolls her eyes. "So he can feel you, too. He knows you're up here with me."</p>
<p>"Oh. Right." Somehow Quentin keeps managing to forget that the bond goes both ways. He wonders if Eliot has felt any of his laughter or amusement, or if he's trying not to pay attention to it like Quentin was earlier.</p>
<p>"How's that going, by the way?" Margo asks, leaning back on one palm and tilting her head at him. "You and Eliot."</p>
<p>Quentin swallows a bigger sip of wine than he means to and just manages not to choke. "Um— well, you know, we're… making it work." Maybe that's a little optimistic when they haven't really spoken in a couple days, but Eliot hasn't been, like, <i>mad</i> at him, or anything. So it's fine, right? "Things are, um, a little different now, obviously. But we're in it together, so…"</p>
<p>He trails off, feeling inexplicably scrutinized as Margo watches him. She hums after a moment, and puts her glass down. "He told you about his family drama, right?"</p>
<p>Quentin frowns, thrown by the change of subject. "Yeah, last full moon." It's a pretty strange club they belong to, him and Margo - the only two people in a very wide radius that know anything about Eliot's past. Exclusive and just a little bit sad. "He said they aren't his family anymore, though," he adds, remembering Eliot's faint smile at the top of the stairs. "We are. This pack."</p>
<p>"Damn right." Margo looks pleased for a moment before her smirk fades to something more serious. "So you know he's been through some shit. I only met him at the tail end of that."</p>
<p>Quentin nods along, fidgeting with his wine glass. "He called you his anchor."</p>
<p>Margo smiles again. "And he's mine. I got here by myself, but... Eliot is the reason I actually made it. Haven wouldn't exist without him." Quentin watches her gaze drop to the bedspread between them, her hair falling across her furrowed brow. "He has trouble seeing that, sometimes. What he's managed to build beyond himself, this place, and our pack…"</p>
<p>She shakes her head after a second, pushing some memory away to catch Quentin's eye again. "Look, what I mean is— I just don't want him to have any more pain."</p>
<p>"Neither do I," Quentin says quickly, a little alarmed. But she doesn't seem to be talking about the Beast. "Is there something we should be worried about?"</p>
<p>Margo lets out a breath, a slight smile curving her lips as she reaches up to tuck Quentin's hair behind his ear. "I don't think so," she says softly. "Just be careful with him."</p>
<p>Quentin thinks again about the bond and the boundary, about not getting mixed up, about keeping things as close to normal as they can. He can manage that, for Eliot. "I will," he promises, nodding. "Nothing's changed."</p>
<p>Margo gives him a weird look at that, but before he can explain any further, she suddenly turns toward the stairs at the edge of the loft. "Josh just opened the doors," she reports, frowning. "Guess the sun is going down already."</p>
<p>She glances back at Quentin and pauses, still looking a little confused for a moment before she shakes her head again and scoots to the edge of the bed. "We can pick this up later," she decides, retrieving her wine glass and plucking Quentin's out of his hands. "But for now, it's time to head downstairs. And you're coming too, whether you want to or not. No hiding."</p>
<p>Quentin pouts at her. "I wasn't going to hide." Sure, he's been avoiding the bar, but the full moon has been sort of separate from that in his mind. Although, now that he's thinking about it, he supposes there really could be a possibility— </p>
<p>"Don't even make that face," Margo huffs, fixing him with a stern look and an accusatory jab of her finger. "I swear to christ, you and Julia are going to have a <i>real</i> party this time, even if I have to hold your hand all night for it to happen. If anyone gives either of you a problem, I will <i>personally</i> toss them out on their ass."</p>
<p>And, well. It's not like Quentin doubts that she actually would. "Okay, fine," he sighs, rolling his eyes maybe a little more exaggeratedly than necessary. Margo grins, giving his hair a playful tug before she hops off the bed, and Quentin can't help smiling back at her.</p>
<p>He really has been looking forward to the full moon this time around, since he and Julia didn't get to feel much of it last month. Sure, he knows from nights with the other pack what it's generally going to feel like, but it's still going to be a new experience with <i>this</i> pack, with <i>this</i> bond between them that's stronger than the old one ever was.</p>
<p>"And hey, if you're really worried about anybody talking to you," Margo says over her shoulder, tossing her closet doors open, "you can always ask Eliot to give you a shoulder rub, or something. His scent's kind of worn off."</p>
<p>"Wh— a what?" Quentin asks, a little closer to a squeak than he's comfortable with. "What do you mean, his scent?"</p>
<p>"Like, scenting," Margo says waving a vague hand at him. "You know, like when you were borrowing from Penny?"</p>
<p>Now that she mentions it, Quentin does remember Alice - and Eliot, actually - telling him he smelled like Penny during that first week.</p>
<p>"Clothes and fabric hold some of it, but it really comes from your hands and skin," Margo explains, turning around with a dress held to her front. "Marking with touch is longer lasting. Did your other pack never go over this?"</p>
<p>"They weren't very touchy-feely," Quentin says distractedly, still trying to get over the <i>shoulder rub</i> part. "Why Eliot?"</p>
<p>"Why do you think?" Margo rolls her eyes and goes back to pawing through her closet. "He's your mate. It's almost weirder if you <i>don't</i> smell like him."</p>
<p>She has a point, but still— if Quentin shows up in the middle of the bar smelling like Eliot, it'll be obvious to everyone that there's something between them. He isn't sure how he feels about that, especially since their situation isn't exactly... standard, for mates. And there probably isn't a casual way to go about asking to be scented. </p>
<p>Margo said Eliot's scent had <i>worn off</i> though, so Quentin did have it on him at one point, even if he was unaware. A weird sort of shiver runs through him at the thought, but he does his best to shake it off. For tonight, he decides, the pack scent will probably be enough to avoid any problems. If it isn't— well, he'll deal with that when it happens. Getting in a fight would probably be less embarrassing than asking Eliot for a massage, at least.</p>
<p>He waits patiently for Margo to change into something more suited for partying in, and then lets her talk him into swapping his loose grey sweater for a tighter black t-shirt - he's not sure why she insists on it, since her dress doesn't match, but the bar is bound to be too warm for layers, anyway. A bit of déjà vu flits over him as he lets Margo lead him downstairs, especially once they turn the corner to come out into the bar proper, already crowded and noisy. The atmosphere is good, lively and excited with a familiar spark of anticipation for the moon.</p>
<p>It's hard to even recall the tension from the almost-fight a few days ago. Quentin is kind of relieved to see that the Beast rumours apparently haven't had much effect on the turnout. Maybe there's some unspoken agreement to just not think about it for the night and focus on the moon instead - and actually, it's easier than Quentin expects to push it out of his mind. Margo might have been onto something with the party-priming idea after all.</p>
<p>This time, she takes him right to the private table by the back door to join the others already sitting there, Kady and Julia on one side of the booth and Alice on the other. For the first time, Quentin notices how much more present the pack bond has gotten. He wasn't thinking about it while he was upstairs with Margo, but now, with the others so close, it's a nearly audible hum, all the threads vibrating together. He catches Julia's eye and knows from her almost helpless grin that she feels it too. No headaches this time, for either of them.</p>
<p>"I thought you put all the boys to work," Kady says with a smirk, as Margo slides in next to Alice. "Why's Quentin so special?"</p>
<p>"He was working too," Margo says, tugging Quentin down beside her. He expects it to be cramped, and it kind of is, but not in a bad way. "I needed a wine confidante on short notice, and he really delivered."</p>
<p>"Wow, yeah, sounds rough," Penny gripes, appearing beside their table with a tray of three brightly coloured cocktails. "I call dibs on that job next month."</p>
<p>"I'm fine with helping out down here instead," Quentin offers, watching him deposit two of the drinks in front of Kady and Julia. "I don't know much about, like, mixing drinks, though."</p>
<p>Margo steals a sip of the third drink before handing it off to Alice with an approving nod. "We can start getting you trained to work the bar, if you want," she says, shrugging. "Penny could show you the ropes."</p>
<p>"No, no way. I don't do training anymore," Penny says with a grimace. "Not after Todd."</p>
<p>Julia very nearly chokes on her first sip. "You let Todd work here?"</p>
<p>"Not anymore," Alice assures her. "Not behind the bar, at least."</p>
<p>"Longest week of my fucking <i>life</i>," Penny grumbles, dropping into the booth beside Kady. She pats his arm sympathetically.</p>
<p>"The good news is, it won't be hard to do better than him," Margo says, then gives Quentin a knowing look. "And I'm sure Eliot would be thrilled to teach you."</p>
<p>Something about her tone makes Quentin almost want to squirm. He looks away towards the bar instead - he can't actually see it around the corner from their table, but he can sense Eliot there, still behind the counter. Quentin has never actually been on the other side of the bartop himself, and it's weird to imagine. Especially if he had Eliot beside him, instead of with the counter between them…</p>
<p>But he drags his thoughts away from that before he can get distracted, and focuses back on the conversation at hand - which has moved from Todd's dismal bartending to Josh's struggle with the firepit happening just outside. It takes some effort and several voices of encouragement sent through the bond, plus some exaggerated miming on Josh's part, but eventually the fire flares to life, and they all cheer while he blows a kiss to the sky.</p>
<p>When backdoors open and most of the guests filter out to the courtyard, Quentin lets Julia drag him outside with her. The moon is just as blindingly bright as it was last time, but there's no immediate wave of dizziness sending him stumbling, just the perfect glowing sphere overhead like a beacon. He can almost feel all the other wolves around him reveling in it - he <i>can</i> feel Julia at his side, and the rest of their pack gathering around them, their presence ringing pleasantly in his mind. It's even better than he remembers it being, almost intoxicating. He's sure he could stand here and bask in the moonlight with them for the rest of the night.</p>
<p>There's something else, though, something mounting underneath the reverberation of the pack bond through Quentin's thoughts. It takes the almost-familiar swoop of someone else's amusement in his chest for him to realize it's Eliot, and once that thought enters his mind, he can't focus on anything else.</p>
<p>It makes sense that the moon would heighten the mate bond too, but Quentin didn't think about what it would feel like, and now he's curious. He slips away from the others almost unconsciously, stepping back from his place beside Julia, letting this new beacon draw him in. He takes one last look up at the full moon, and imagines the light soaking into him before he turns away to head back inside.</p>
<p>Like last time, it's way easier to get across the room with most of the guests having filed out to the courtyard, and the bar counter is much less crowded than it was earlier. As soon as Eliot comes into view, Quentin pauses, feeling something else fall through his chest - not a specific emotion this time, but it leaves a trail of warmth. Eliot must feel it too, if how quickly he turns in Quentin's direction is any indication. Quentin feels himself smiling before they even lock eyes.</p>
<p>He waves, which feels sort of silly, but Eliot returns it with a smile of his own, amused again. <i>How's your head?</i> he asks, slipping into Quentin's thoughts as easily as ever. It feels like it's been a long time since he's heard Eliot in his mind, but he's too giddy to focus on that.</p>
<p><i>It's good,</i> Quentin sends back, struggling a little to keep the words in order. <i>Better than good. I feel like I could run laps, or something.</i></p>
<p><i>Can't say I recommend that,</i> Eliot hums, almost a laugh. He turns away when someone comes up to the counter, but his voice stays in Quentin's thoughts. <i>Come over here, I'll keep you from running off.</i></p>
<p>Quentin bites back a grin and starts to make his way over, warmth dropping through his chest again— but he only manages a few steps before someone moves into his path.</p>
<p>"Hey, you're Quentin, right?" A wolf with long red hair tilts her head at him, smiling almost mischievously. Quentin is too startled to answer, half his brain still devoted to the echo of Eliot's words, but the wolf doesn't seem to mind. "I'm Poppy. Can I get you a drink?"</p>
<p>Brow furrowing, Quentin finally manages a weak laugh. "What?"</p>
<p>"A drink," she repeats, laughing along with him. "You know where we are, right?"</p>
<p>It's not until Poppy's eyes drop and run down the length of him that Quentin realizes she's— flirting, she's checking him out, or— sizing him up, maybe? Are those the same thing? The sudden flash of something prickly in the back of his mind doesn't make it any easier to sort out. "I, uh—"</p>
<p>"It's cool if you'd rather not," Poppy cuts him off, shrugging. "We can just find a place to sit down. Maybe somewhere quieter?" She steps a little closer, still smiling at him, and reaches out for his hand. "Come on, let's go!"</p>
<p>As soon as she touches him, the prickly feeling abruptly rises, startling Quentin all over again. It's not quite anger, more just— dislike, or annoyance, with something defensive underneath. Before he can fully figure it out, or manage to say anything else to Poppy, Eliot appears beside him.</p>
<p>His hand closes around Quentin's arm and pulls him out of Poppy's loose grip. "Sorry," he says tightly, not sounding sorry at all, "I need to borrow this one for a minute." He doesn't give Poppy time to react, just tugs Quentin away, and Quentin is still too bewildered by the sudden wave of unfamiliar sensation spilling out from him to do anything but follow.</p>
<p>Eliot leads him around the side of the bar, stopping at the edge of the hall behind it that leads upstairs. The little alcove isn't quite hidden, but it's out of the way enough that the noise from the rest of the bar seems muted. Quentin blinks hard, wading his way through Eliot's fading annoyance and clearing his throat.</p>
<p>"Thanks for the rescue," he manages. Eliot's hand is still on his arm, which is distracting. "I don't know who that was, she just came up to me and—"</p>
<p>"I saw." Eliot seems legitimately angry, almost glaring out at the rest of the bar.</p>
<p>"Is... something wrong?" Quentin asks, frowning at him. He's pretty sure Poppy is still on the opposite side of the room. She definitely didn't follow them over here, so why is Eliot so mad? "Did Margo make it, like, illegal to talk to me, or—?"</p>
<p>Eliot finally looks at him, brow furrowed. "What? No, that's not— no," he huffs, facing him properly. Quentin feels the annoyance recede, like he's trying to push it down. "She wasn't just talking, okay? She was looking for someone to fuck around with. I know what it looks like when someone wants you to take them upstairs."</p>
<p>Quentin flushes, Kady's comment about <i>carnal desires</i> coming back to him once again. So Poppy was definitely flirting, then. He's not sure how he feels about the way her eyes dragged over him. "Oh," he forces out.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Eliot says flatly, glaring around the bar again. "Which is fine, but she should've known you're— unavailable."</p>
<p>He falters on the last word, like he meant to say something else. Quentin feels that strange shiver run through him again, but pushes it away. Eliot has a point - it would've been a little awkward if Poppy was expecting Quentin to be unattached. He still doesn't really want to have to explain the whole life-saving marriage situation to anyone, and werewolves don't exactly use wedding rings, but…</p>
<p>"Margo said you could, like— she said your scent wore off," Quentin says, trying to get the words out fast enough that he won't flush any deeper. "So maybe that's why— like, maybe Poppy just. Couldn't tell?"</p>
<p>Eliot glances back at him, blinking in surprise. "I— suppose so, yes," he says, a bit haltingly. He seems to finally notice that he's still holding onto Quentin's arm, and Quentin feels his fingers flex almost imperceptibly.</p>
<p>"We can fix that," Eliot offers, his voice a little lower. "If you want me to."</p>
<p>Face burning, Quentin manages a small nod. "Yeah, I mean, it'd probably make things— easier?" he tries, pushing his hair out of his face with weirdly shaky fingers. "Like, I don't know how many other people are looking to buy me a drink, or— or whatever, but, you know. It might be worth a shot. I don't know how you want to, um..." Quentin feels his rambling train of thought slipping off the rails as Eliot's hand starts to slide up his arm. "How we should... try to…"</p>
<p>He loses the rest of his words when Eliot's palm settles on the side of his neck, a gentle weight against his suddenly-racing pulse. Quentin isn't sure what's warmer, Eliot's hand or his own skin underneath it, but wherever the two connect he feels sparks, prickling with heat and— something else, something he wants more of.</p>
<p>He's barely had the thought before Eliot puts his other hand on Quentin's shoulder, over the Beast's bite - it doesn't hurt anymore, but Quentin's skin seems to heat up again under his touch, almost hypersensitive where Eliot gently runs his fingers over his collar. The sparks aren't as sharp through his shirt, but it's still good, still stealing every bit of his attention that isn't devoted to remaining upright. Quentin is suddenly glad he listened to Margo's advice about changing out of his thick sweater - but that thought flies out of his head as Eliot's hand drags slowly down his chest.</p>
<p>His palm pauses flat on Quentin's belly, just above the hem of his shirt, like he's not sure where to go from there. Quentin is tense under his touch, afraid to even breathe if it might make Eliot take his hands away. He just needs it a little longer, he just wants to figure out what he's feeling and whose it is— but Eliot hesitates, a split second of doubt flickering in the back of Quentin's mind.</p>
<p>On impulse he reaches up to catch Eliot's wrist before he can pull away, and there, where their skin connects— he feels the same sparks flare through Eliot, the same heat chasing the doubt away, the same burst of pleasure that makes Quentin's breath stick in his throat.</p>
<p>His voice wavers when he tries to speak again. "Can you feel that?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Eliot breathes, his eyes searching Quentin's face. "It's… you feel it, too."</p>
<p>Quentin nods, lifting his other hand and laying it against Eliot's chest. The touch still isn't as intense through the fabric of his shirt and vest, but Eliot sways closer like he can't help it. His hand moves from Quentin's stomach to his hip, not quite pulling him in but gripping like he's considering it, like he <i>wants</i> to. Whatever is suddenly thrumming under Quentin's skin <i>really</i> wants him to.</p>
<p>He's not sure why. They're just touching. And it hasn't always felt like this - their brush of fingers the other day didn't make his entire arm simmer like it is now, radiating out from where he's gripping Eliot's wrist. It must be the full moon. It must be the bond, turned up to eleven like everything else. Quentin knows he's supposed to be keeping track of boundaries, he <i>knows</i> that, but— he also knows Eliot can feel everything he's feeling, from the sparks tingling at every point of contact to the growing need to press even closer.</p>
<p>Neither of them want to let go. That much he's definitely not confused about.</p>
<p>Quentin tilts his head to look up into Eliot's face at the same moment that Eliot dips down, his breath fanning over Quentin's jaw as he leans close. He hovers there for a moment, over Quentin's parted lips, like he's waiting for him to say something, or giving him a chance to pull away. Quentin pushes up on his toes instead, and catches Eliot's mouth in a kiss.</p>
<p>Eliot's entire body seems to react, curling closer to him, the hand on Quentin's neck sliding into his hair. The kiss is gentle, though, almost slow, and Quentin is <i>tingling—</i>not just from the soft brush of Eliot's lips against his, but all over, his entire body nearly shivering as Eliot presses into him.</p>
<p>They break apart when Quentin drops back down, his weak knees threatening to give out, but he barely has time to take a breath before Eliot leans in again. He can feel Eliot's heart pounding as the same sort of full-body shiver runs through him, and then a flare of determination before he moves, backing Quentin up against the wall of the alcove. Quentin lets him, curling both hands in Eliot's sleeves as he tries not to stumble.</p>
<p>His back still hits the wall sooner than he expects, their lips parting for a moment, and Quentin loses his breath as he looks up at Eliot hovering over him. His eyes are dark, and he's so <i>tall</i>, how has Quentin never noticed just how tall Eliot is? Eliot smiles like he knows exactly what Quentin is thinking, then ducks back down to kiss him again, this time licking into his mouth. His tongue sends a whole new sort of heat sparking through Quentin, and he feels it spreading in Eliot too, simmering in his fingertips where they're tangled in Quentin's hair.</p>
<p>Eliot's other hand paws at his shirt hem, then dips underneath it, his palm sliding warm and sparking across the plane of Quentin's stomach. Quentin's mouth drops open, gasping as heat drips down through him - it's like Eliot is melting against him, like his touch is a fever thawing him out.</p>
<p>"Too much?" Eliot asks, breathing it against his parted lips, but he's more amused than hesitant or worried. He doesn't take his hand back either, slowly splaying his fingers across Quentin's ribs instead.</p>
<p>Quentin is too scattered to answer with words, but he tries to arch closer, hoping Eliot will feel his desperation and get the message - but Eliot just presses him back against the wall. He holds him there with a playful hum that Quentin feels through his whole body, the vibration flitting around the rush of curious pleasure that's been mounting in him— and squirming doesn't help— </p>
<p>"Eliot," he whimpers, knowing it sounds needy and petulant, but he's so beyond caring, he just wants to <i>touch</i>. He doesn't expect to feel Eliot's reaction as it drops through him, hot and dark and— <i>oh—</i></p>
<p>It's arousal, bleeding over Eliot's edges and spreading into Quentin like ink through water, coiling in the pit of his stomach. Still holding him against the wall, Eliot pushes his thigh between Quentin's legs, the brief friction making Quentin gasp again. He can't help jerking his hips forward, grinding himself against Eliot for a split second of pleasure that makes them both groan - but something changes, a momentary distraction in the back of Quentin's mind before Eliot pulls away.</p>
<p>He steps back with a twinge of regret that Quentn feels turning over like a heavy stone in his stomach. He doesn't go so far that Quentin can't still feel the heat of him, but it's enough to bring Quentin back to himself a little - so that when someone walks past the alcove, he abruptly remembers where they are and, with a spike of alarm, how many people are literally just around the corner.</p>
<p>"Was that Todd?" he asks, trying to catch his breath. That really could've been a disaster - even as wound up as he is, Quentin can't help huffing a relieved laugh. "I swear, you must have, like, radar, or something."</p>
<p>"Or something," Eliot agrees, almost distractedly. Quentin looks over and finds him already reaching out, not for Quentin's shirt this time, but for his wrist, to start tugging him down the hall towards the stairs. "Come on, come with me."</p>
<p>His gaze is still dark and heavy, and Quentin can almost feel the sparks emanating from him. He follows easily, his skin singing under Eliot's touch.</p>
<p>Climbing the steps seems to take an age, when in reality it's probably the fastest Quentin has ever ascended them. Once they reach the main floor of the house, Eliot turns to face him again, the hand on Quentin's wrist sliding up his arm and the other all but yanking him closer by the waist. Quentin latches onto his shoulders, pressing as much of himself against Eliot as he can manage while in motion, the sparking warmth drawing them together like magnets.</p>
<p>It's a clumsy, half-backwards journey across the room to the couch by the windows, but Quentin barely registers it, feeling giddy like he's out under the moon again. And he sort of is - the party is still in full swing in the courtyard below them, the fire still flickering across the grass and the indistinguishable shapes of other wolves. The full moon is high, shining down on the square and in through the windows. Eliot tips himself down right into the beam falling across the couch and pulls Quentin along with him, tugging him into his lap.</p>
<p>Quentin has barely found his balance before he's pitching forward for another kiss. Eliot gives it easily, pressing harder than before, the heat of his mouth making Quentin shiver. His hands roam over Quentin's chest and down his arms, spreading sparks. Quentin clings to his shirt, dizzy with warmth and pleasure and Eliot's tongue in his mouth.</p>
<p>His shaky fingers find some of the buttons on Eliot's vest, but he can't focus enough to do more than scrabble at them, until finally Eliot smirks against his lips and breaks off to push his hands away. Quentin leans back a little to watch him make quick work of not only the vest, but his collared shirt too - though he barely gets it off his shoulders before Quentin is reaching out, pushing his fingers through the hair on Eliot's chest and feeling, more than seeing, the pleased shiver that works its way through him.</p>
<p>With Eliot's hands gripping his waist, Quentin spreads his palms across his chest, marvelling at the heat of Eliot's skin and how thrilling it is to just touch. He can feel Eliot's heartbeat again, and his own pulse racing to match it; he takes a breath and watches Eliot's ribs expand. It was like this the night they bonded, losing track of whose hands were whose and which of them was touching the other - but this time it's the full moon that has their edges blurring together.</p>
<p>There's an undercurrent now, though, that Quentin doesn't remember feeling before— the tight coil in his belly, the heat between his legs, the sharp edge of desire that drives further into him every time he shifts and feels the hot press of Eliot's cock underneath him. He can practically feel Eliot getting harder - for a split second Quentin thinks about his <i>knot</i> and nearly chokes on his breath - and from the spike of arousal that licks up his spine when they lock eyes, he's pretty sure Eliot knows.</p>
<p>He wastes no time tugging his shirt off as soon as Eliot starts to slip his hands under it again, somehow managing to avoid getting stuck even with Eliot's palms sparking up his sides. Pushing his hair out of his face, Quentin watches Eliot's eyes rove over him, his gaze just as hot against Quentin's bare skin - but Eliot pauses, catching on something with a twinge of concern. It's only when he reaches up to Quentin's shoulder that Quentin remembers the scar the Beast left on him.</p>
<p>It's an uneven crescent of pale teeth marks, a half-ring of jagged diamonds that dip down to his collarbone, with a matching set on his back just above his shoulderblade. Quentin hasn't shown them to anyone else, not since the wounds fully closed and the skin healed over. He's not sure how he feels about it, truthfully, his first scar in years - but Eliot looks almost reverent, something like awe flitting through him.</p>
<p>"I felt this," he murmurs, gently spreading his fingers across the ragged curve. "When we were connected."</p>
<p>Quentin glances up to frown at him. "You didn't tell me that."</p>
<p>"It was only for a second." Eliot strokes softly over the lowest mark, just under the bone that snapped. "I could feel the heat of it, like you were burning from the inside out. Like we both were."</p>
<p>The idea that Eliot had to feel any of his pain doesn't sit well with Quentin, but before he can do much more than furrow his brow, Eliot leans in to press his mouth against the scar. Quentin nearly squeaks, his newly-healed skin already sensitive even without the sparks that light up at the tip of Eliot's tongue, tingling all the way down to the base of his spine. He tries not to squirm while Eliot makes his way across the ring, kissing each diamond, his hands braced against Quentin's ribcage.</p>
<p>By the time Eliot reaches his shoulder and starts trailing his mouth up the side of his neck, Quentin is desperate. He gives up trying to hold still, rolling his hips almost unthinkingly while Eliot hums against his throat. His senses are blurring again, his grip on Eliot's shoulders overlaid with Eliot's palms sliding down to his hips, and he's not sure who's responsible for the hitch in his breath or the taste on his tongue.</p>
<p>Then Eliot pulls him closer, the bulge of his cock pressing right up underneath Quentin's. He lines Quentin up to rock against him, and the first slow grind has Quentin's entire body lighting up as Eliot all but drags him across his cock. "<i>Ah—</i> fuck, Eliot," he gasps, losing his breath as he jerks his hips back and grinds forward again, chasing the friction.</p>
<p>"Yeah, Q, just like that," Eliot says breathily, pulling back to watch Quentin rut against him. His hands are still gripping his hips, his eyes dark. "You're close, aren't you, baby?"</p>
<p>"I'm— yeah," Quentin pants, flushing at the pet name, or maybe from the unmistakable <i>want</i> radiating off of Eliot, heady and almost cloying.</p>
<p>He shivers and keeps rocking, tugging Eliot back in for a clumsy kiss, and Eliot keeps touching him, licking at his lips, pawing at the front of his jeans. Quentin can feel a growing wet spot where his own cock is pressing, so hard it almost hurts, each brush of Eliot's shaky fingers making his hips stutter. There's a heat pulling taut within both of them, their pleasure overlapping, like they're almost pressed close enough to phase together again—</p>
<p>Groaning, Eliot finally manages to get Quentin's jeans open and tugs his underwear down just far enough to get his hand around his leaking cock. Quentin is wound so tight he can't do anything but push into Eliot's fist, grinding down on him, panting against his mouth. "El, <i>Eliot—</i>"</p>
<p>"I've got you," Eliot breathes, his fingers slick and hot around him. "I feel you, Q, come on, come for me." He slides his free hand across the back of Quentin's neck, a burst of sparks erupting at the touch and making Quentin's eyes flutter open on a gasp.</p>
<p>Eliot is too close to see clearly, but he's <i>bright,</i> his outline almost shimmering. Quentin has a flash of memory from— somewhere, a dream, maybe— Eliot with the sun behind him, his edges glowing like they are now— and then he's trembling, squeezing his eyes shut again and crying out as pleasure crests over both of them.</p>
<p>He feels Eliot's cock pulse at the same time that he comes between Eliot's fingers, shuddering from the intensity of two waves crashing over him at once. Eliot is wracked with it too, tense underneath him, and for a few seconds that's all there is— the two of them in the same space, breathing in the same rhythm, slowly coming down as the wave ebbs.</p>
<p>Quentin eventually becomes aware of which body is his again, which skin and which hands. It's Eliot that tucks him back into his jeans and settles his palms on Quentin's hips again, but it's Quentin that cups Eliot's face and leans in for a slow kiss. He can still feel the thrum under his skin and the sparks in his mouth, but both are dimmed now, not quite as sharp.</p>
<p>Exhaustion drips down over both of them, replacing the frantic heat with something slower and thicker to wade through. The already languid kiss becomes softer and softer until it's barely a brush of parted lips, and Quentin breaks it to drop his heavy head onto Eliot's shoulder. He feels Eliot's hum of laughter buzzing under his cheek, playful mirth bubbling up in him and spilling across the gap like foam.</p>
<p>"Hey," Eliot says softly, his hands stroking across the small of Quentin's back. "We can't sleep here, Q, come on."</p>
<p>Mumbling tiredly, Quentin lets himself be maneuvered off his lap with gentle tugs and guiding touches, and then to his feet. After a brief pause while Eliot gathers up their discarded clothes, Quentin latches onto his offered hand and stumbles after him as he's led around the corner and down the hall to Eliot's bedroom.</p>
<p>Quentin hasn't been in here for weeks, but he's not sure how he didn't notice last time how strongly the entire room smells like Eliot. It could just be the moon turning his senses up - it's still shining in through the window onto the bed that Eliot nudges him towards - but Quentin wonders if he smells like that too, now. Is Eliot's scent on him? Like he belongs here, among all Eliot's other possessions?</p>
<p>He's distracted from his daze when Eliot drops his hand to Quentin's hip, fingers dipping under the waistband of his jeans. "You should take these off," he murmurs.</p>
<p>A tiny flame licks at the base of Quentin's spine, but Eliot moves off to his closet before it can grow into anything, leaving only a playful glint in Quentin's mind. Quentin lets it fade before he follows Eliot's instructions and kicks his jeans off, grimacing at the sticky patches. He really does plan to do more than just leave them in a heap on the rug, but he collapses on Eliot's bed instead, breathing in the scent on his pillows.</p>
<p>As he's sinking into contentment, he feels something soft from Eliot - amusement? No, endearment, and underneath that, his <i>want</i> again— but that's softer too, now, not radiating heat anymore. It's just... there, as easy to feel as Eliot's eyes on him.</p>
<p>Quentin rolls over to face him as the bed dips. Eliot has taken off his own probably equally sticky garments, and is crawling in beside him naked. Quentin reaches for him without thinking, just wanting his bare skin under his hands again, and Eliot shifts closer, letting Quentin press himself against his chest.</p>
<p>He wants to breathe in as much of Eliot's scent as he can. He wants to curl his fingers through his chest hair again, and feel him shiver. He wants another kiss to make his lips buzz. He doesn't manage any of it before his eyes close, but he can feel Eliot's arms winding around him, at least, and Eliot's knee pushing between his legs, Eliot's presence brushing his own. He figures they can compromise.</p>
<p>He's too tired and comfortable to pick out specific feelings from the bond, as he's drawn down into sleep. There's just warmth, sweet and familiar, softer than any blanket as it fills the space between them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>folks thank u so much for the response to the last chapter, as always we are LOVING your reactions and you're all making posting this a really good time 😢 updates will probably get a little slower (i'm moving across the country lol) but there are still 4-5 chapters left after this extremely long one and HOO boy am i excited for Some Things That Happen. ANYWAY</p>
<p>in this chapter, A Plan is made to deal with the beast while quentin starts to wonder about the real effects of the full moon on the bond.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quentin blinks awake to his fingers curling in cold rumpled bedsheets. His arm is stretched out across the empty side of Eliot's bed, like he was reaching for something in a dream. It's already slipping away, but he remembers pieces - a wooden fence and a farmhouse, the moon over a field that stretched out in all directions, warm dirt under his bare feet as he ran. The smell of grass and straw and soil, and the night breeze blowing past him, sweet with summer.</p>
<p>He’s sure he's never been wherever he was, never seen fields like that or chased the moon through the tall grass, never felt so wild— but it was familiar all the same, almost nostalgic, yearning for someone else's memory. Eliot's memory, Quentin supposes. Eliot's dreams. He wonders what Eliot dreamt about in return.</p>
<p>But Eliot isn't in bed anymore. He must have gotten up without waking Quentin, somehow, extricated himself from the tangle of legs and arms that Quentin remembers the warmth of more than the actual position. He kind of wishes it <i>had</i> woken him up, even just so he would have had a chance to try and pull Eliot back.</p>
<p>Or is that too weird a thought, now that he's awake and the weird exhilarating high of the full moon is over? He still feels good - kind of wrung out, maybe. And emotionally hungover, if that's a thing. But most of the night is clear in his mind, coming to Eliot's room, falling asleep together, and... everything before that. The part on the couch is a little dreamlike, if only just because Quentin probably wouldn't believe it had happened if he hadn't just woken up in Eliot's bed. Or if he didn't remember just how good it felt to be that close to Eliot again, to be connected.</p>
<p>There was something strange, though, wasn't there, towards the end? He opened his eyes and Eliot was glowing—</p>
<p>The door opening startles him out of his thoughts, but it's just Eliot, pausing in the doorway when Quentin sits up. The sight of him makes Quentin's memory of the night before seem sharper, suddenly, losing its dreamy haziness. He remembers pulling at Eliot's shirt buttons, and having Eliot's mouth on his neck, and touching as much of his bare skin as he could reach - but here Eliot is now, in daylight, fully dressed and put together like he's never been anything less.</p>
<p>Quentin realizes he's holding his breath when their eyes meet, waiting for Eliot to move, or react, something— but a second later Eliot's gaze slides away from him.</p>
<p>"Morning," he says, coming further into the room quickly, like he's trying to make up for the pause. "Sorry if you woke up to Josh crowing about shallots and squash just now."</p>
<p>"I didn't hear anything." It's a little awkward, suddenly, being here in Eliot's bed while he's clearly in the middle of something. Quentin makes himself shuffle out of his warm spot and put his feet on the floor. "What time is it?" he asks, pushing his sleep-mussed hair out of his face.</p>
<p>"Still early." Eliot moves toward the desk, barely glancing at the bed as he passes it, and starts opening drawers. "Everyone else is napping, but Josh had some sort of epiphany about late summer vegetables and wants to hit the farmers' market before it gets too crowded. And he <i>insists</i> I have the car keys, but as I am about to prove, I do not." His voice is light, even as he rifles through things a bit jerkily. </p>
<p>Quentin watches him with a frown. He didn't notice while he was under the covers, but now the bond is kind of muddled, like he's still half-asleep. It's especially strange after how intense it was last night, feeling every emotion of Eliot's bleeding over and passing right through him. He furrows his brow and gives his presence a tentative nudge, just to see if the cloudiness will disperse, but he feels something like a recoil instead. Eliot freezes in his searching - Quentin isn't sure if it's a reaction to his reaching out or not, but Eliot takes a breath before abandoning the drawers and turning to face him, his back to the desk with his palms splayed on the edge.</p>
<p>"Alright," he sighs out, head bowed. "Let's just... get this out of the way, shall we?" He clears his throat and finally looks up, his expression resigned and almost uncomfortable in a way that makes Quentin's stomach twist. "So. Last night. How much do you remember?"</p>
<p>"Um... all of it?" Quentin manages, a little weaker than he means it to be. "At least I think— like, I know we, um. Ended up here."</p>
<p>He can't tell if Eliot is relieved or not. "Well," he says, voice light again, "we all know the full moon can be energizing. Stimulating, even. We were both... under the influence, you could say."</p>
<p>He seems almost flippant, not at all matching up with the breathy words and heated stare Quentin remembers from the night before— but he pushes that memory away. "Yeah, of course," he agrees. "You're right, we weren't— it wasn't, like, on purpose."</p>
<p>The moon certainly did have a strong effect, after all. He wasn't, like, drunk, but his inhibitions were definitely lowered. Like, he had <i>kissed</i> Eliot— and that was before they even got upstairs, and everything after that was just… happening in the moment, almost without meaning it to. Right?</p>
<p>"And, look, these things happen," Eliot says, shrugging. "Full moon hook-ups are no big deal, especially here."</p>
<p>Quentin nods along. Eliot and Margo are supposed to have a habit of picking someone out for the night, aren't they? Or they used to, before he and Julia got here, but either way that's— fine, obviously, it's whatever. And Eliot would know better than him what the full moon can make you feel.</p>
<p>Part of him worries, though, that something has changed - that the anxiety he can feel pooling in his gut isn't just his, and that the pinch between Eliot's brows won't smooth out after this. The bond is already confusing enough for the state of their friendship, but Quentin apparently couldn't resist throwing another wrench in the works— </p>
<p>"So we're, like—" He gestures vaguely, abandoning the movement halfway through and nervously tucking his hair behind his ear instead. "We're fine, right? We're not… It doesn't have to mean anything."</p>
<p>Eliot's expression does smooth over then, and he sighs out a laugh."Yeah, Q, we're fine." </p>
<p>Quentin tries to smile back at him, but he can't quite make it work, too distracted by the relief he can feel brushing at the edge of his mind. The assurance that nothing has changed <i>is</i> relieving, of course it is, for both of them. Everything from the night before, the sparks and the heat, that part where they got so close that Quentin lost track of himself - it was just the full moon supercharging their bond to a point where they… well, <i>got mixed up</i> seems like an understatement, but what else is there to say?</p>
<p>They're okay, and that's what matters. The night was an anomaly, a slip-up, and they're still just dealing with this whole situation together. But as Eliot's relief slips away from him, Quentin feels a thread of disappointment try to follow it out, tangling up in his thoughts before he pushes that away, too.</p>
<p>"I have to go, or Josh will start waxing poetic about French beans again," Eliot says, pushing off the desk to retrace his steps across the room. Quentin feels awkward discomfort rising - should he be getting up to leave, too? "I put your clothes in the laundry. There's a robe on the back of the door you can borrow - it's Margo's, but if you're going upstairs anyway, you can return it. Though I'd wait a bit, if I were you. Bambi doesn't take well to nap interruptions."</p>
<p>He pauses at the door, almost the same place he stopped on the way in, and turns back to look at Quentin, who forces his fingers to stop twisting in the sheets across his lap. "Um— yeah," Quentin manages to eke out. "Sure, I'll… I'll do that."</p>
<p>Eliot softens a little, the corners of his mouth curling up for a moment. "Or you can go back to sleep, if you want," he offers. "No one will disturb you in here."</p>
<p>He's quiet for a second, and Quentin is just starting to wonder if he's expecting another response when Eliot looks away, turning back to the door. "We'll be back soon," he says as he slips out. The door closes softly behind him, leaving Quentin alone in his bed.</p>
<p>Part of Quentin really does want to get back under the covers, but another part is still uncomfortable, self-conscious even without anyone watching. Spending the night in Eliot's bed isn't supposed to have meant anything, so he probably shouldn't stay.</p>
<p>He slips out of the bedroom with the borrowed robe hastily tied at his waist and hurries quietly up the stairs, not wanting to see anyone on the way. After breathing against Eliot's warm sheets for the whole night, the rest of the house seems muted to Quentin, the scents fleeting, the air almost cold in his lungs. Even his own room doesn't feel quite right at first, until he curls up on his bed and buries his face in his own familiar pillows. </p>
<p>Maybe he really will go back to sleep. Downstairs he was too jittery with awkward nerves to manage it, but now that the emotional whiplash from shame to relief and back again has settled, a nap doesn't sound so bad.</p>
<p>The robe doesn't smell particularly like Margo, or even like Eliot. Quentin supposes it'll probably have more of his own scent than anything when he gives it back - although, thinking about it, he might not even smell like himself at the moment. Does he have Eliot's scent on him now? After all, that's what they were trying to achieve last night, wasn't it?</p>
<p>Quentin presses his nose to his forearm, his inner elbow, his cupped hands, but his skin doesn't seem to smell any different. Maybe he's already gotten used to it, like the scent of Eliot's room. But he spent so long wrapped up in it while he slept, surely some of Eliot's scent must have lingered, even if Quentin can't tell the difference.</p>
<p>He wonders if Eliot could, when he came into the room. He wonders how long it's going to last this time. Then he closes his eyes and tries not to wonder about anything else.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>When Julia knocks on his door, Quentin is drawn abruptly out of a legend about clashing alphas and nearly fumbles Alice's storybook as he sits up from his slouch. He has to blink a few times to regain his bearings as Julia comes in, and startles at the colour of the sky outside the window, dark purple with sunset. He could've sworn it was mid-afternoon just a few pages ago.<p>"Hey, you okay?" Julia asks, frowning just a little. "We missed you at dinner."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I'm— I'm fine." Quentin glances outside again and then back at her, brushing his hair out of his face and trying for a smile. "Just tired from the moon, you know?"</p>
<p>He doesn't think he's the only one, either. The whole house has been quiet all day, and Quentin is pretty sure the rest of the pack was asleep when he went down to the kitchen for late breakfast— however many hours ago that was. Margo had prodded him through the bond a little after that, and he sent back that he was napping - which wasn't entirely true, but easier to explain than what he was actually doing, which was lying in bed rereading a book he's already been through twice. He definitely didn't mean to spend the whole day up in the attic by himself, though. At least he hasn't been that hungry.</p>
<p>Julia nods understandingly, her worry deflating as she steps further into the room. "Well, Margo sent me to wake you up. She's calling a pack meeting to talk about the next audience with the coven. Not right this second," she laughs, waving a hand when Quentin immediately starts to get up. "Eliot's still making dessert. We'll go down when the oven goes off."</p>
<p>She moves to sit on her bed, which she hasn't touched for almost a week now. Quentin feels a weird, sad pang about it - it's not like she moved <i>all</i> of her things down to Kady's room, and they're still living in the same house, so it's not like he has a reason to miss her, but— maybe he does anyway, just a little. It's nice to just watch her settle back into her space for a moment.</p>
<p>"Oh, by the way," she says, leaning back on her palms, "Alice wants to interview us about the full moon again, since we actually felt it properly this time."</p>
<p>"Sure," Quentin says distractedly. Julia's shirt seems weirdly familiar for some reason - he wonders if she somehow came up here and stole it from his closet without him noticing, or something. "I don't think I'll have much to say that's different from you, though."</p>
<p>It finally clicks after a second - he <i>has</i> worn that shirt once, but it's not his, it's Penny's. Come to think of it, Julia smells a bit like him, and a bit like Kady, too. Quentin bites back a smile before Julia can notice. Maybe he's not the only one who brought someone upstairs last night.</p>
<p>But he's trying not to think about that, he quickly reminds himself. He hopes he's not blushing as he drags his eyes back up to Julia's face. "So, um— as long as Alice is okay with me copying your answers again, then yeah, whenever."</p>
<p>Julia hesitates, biting her lip. "Well… she wants to ask you about the mate bond, too. In general, not just the full moon effect. But only if you're willing," she adds, giving him an apologetic look. "She knows it's private."</p>
<p>Part of Quentin agrees, and his mouth is already forming around a rejection of the idea when he pauses, doubt pulling the words down. It's not supposed to matter, right? Not the bond, or what happened last night, or any of it. Nothing has changed, he and Eliot agreed on that.</p>
<p>"It's— I can still, like... talk about it," he says slowly, forcibly relaxing his shoulders. "I mean, it's not like it's a secret, so… she can ask whatever."</p>
<p>Julia furrows her brow. "Are you sure?"</p>
<p>Quentin makes himself shrug. "Yeah, why not?" He can tell Alice the basics, no problem. And if she does ask about the night before, he doesn't have to give her <i>all</i> the details - just that under the full moon the bond was stronger, and he had an easier time reading Eliot once they got— close. Sure, he'll be doing some pretty big edits on the fly, but he's fairly certain that Alice doesn't need or want the specifics.</p>
<p>"I just thought you might not want…" Julia trails off, searching his face with a frown. "You know you're allowed to say no, Q. It's between you and Eliot."</p>
<p>"It's not a big deal," Quentin assures her, but it feels weird coming out of his mouth, like he's lying to her without meaning to. He twists his lips into a wry smile to make up for it. "There's not even that much to talk about. We're both just— you know. Dealing with it."</p>
<p>As if she can read his thoughts, Julia's expression shifts into something almost suspicious. "Is that what Eliot thinks?" she asks.</p>
<p>Quentin frowns back at her, baffled. "Why would he think anything else?" Eliot's the one who wanted to make sure they were on the same page with all this, wasn't he? But Julia doesn't seem convinced.</p>
<p>Luckily the distant beep of the oven saves Quentin from having to weather her concerned stare any longer. "Honestly, Jules, it's fine," he assures her as they stand up. "You can tell Alice I'm up for it."</p>
<p>"I'm just saying," Julia insists, following him out of the room, "maybe you should ask Eliot first."</p>
<p>Quentin pushes down a frustrated sigh. "Okay, fine. But he probably won't care." One glance back at Julia's pinched frown has him rolling his eyes. "Are you going to ask Kady or Penny before you tell Alice what <i>you</i> got up to?"</p>
<p>Her cheeks flush at the teasing even as she scowls at him. "We weren't— that's <i>not</i> the same thing," she huffs, but she turns away to descend the stairs without pestering him any further. Quentin knows she probably hasn't fully dropped it, but for now he smiles as he follows her downstairs.</p>
<p>The main floor smells sweet and warm with earthy spices. Most of the pack is gathered around the dining table, where a half-empty tray of small pastry tarts is centered. Julia immediately heads over to sit beside Kady, and Quentin resists the urge to give her a knowing nudge through the bond. He lets himself be beckoned into the kitchen by Margo instead, where she's leaning back against the counter while Eliot shuts the oven beside her.</p>
<p>"Hey, finally hungry?" she asks, smiling as Quentin heads over. "There's leftovers in the fridge with your name on them."</p>
<p>"Roasted vegetables, as I'm sure is no surprise," Eliot says, tossing down a pair of oven mitts. "Josh went a little wild at the farmers' market."</p>
<p>Margo gives him a wry look. "And you didn't?"</p>
<p>"Not with courgettes, I didn't," Eliot sniffs, then raises an eyebrow at Quentin. "Unless you're just here for dessert?"</p>
<p>Quentin grins a little sheepishly. "Maybe?" He glances at the dining table and the dwindling few tarts left on the tray as the others pick them off. "What did you make?"</p>
<p>"Here." He turns back to find Eliot holding one out to him, a rustic pastry with thin, sugar-dusted slices of deep red fruit arranged artfully on top. "I did a little exploring at the market while Josh was fawning over tomato varieties," Eliot explains, laying the tart almost delicately in Quentin's hands, warm and just a little crumbly. "I found this stall full of plums, perfectly ripe, and I couldn't resist. You'll see why."</p>
<p>He steps back, watching expectantly as Quentin lifts it to his mouth. Quentin almost feels bad biting into the elegant pastry, but he stops caring once the taste hits his tongue - sweet and syrupy, almost on the edge of sour before the soft, buttery pastry soothes it. He can only hum his approval with his mouth full, but he can feel pleased satisfaction rolling through Eliot as he grins at Quentin's reaction.</p>
<p>The clarity of the feeling is a pleasant surprise, actually. Quentin savours both his second bite and the warmth in not-his chest. He hadn't noticed Eliot coming back into focus as the day went on, and to suddenly feel his mood so tangibly after how cloudy the bond was when he woke up is more of a relief than he expected. Not only that, but to have Eliot be so casual around him, too - Quentin kind of thought the awkward air from that morning would persist between them, but Eliot doesn't seem bothered at all now, smirking as he presses a napkin into Quentin's plum-sticky fingers.</p>
<p>It's preferable to him being distant, of course - Quentin really didn't want to have another few days of near-silence like they had right after the bonding ritual - but it still throws him a little. Before he can wonder any further about it, though, Margo pushes off the counter to usher both of them into the dining room.</p>
<p>"Family meeting starts now," she announces to the rest of the pack gathered around the table. "Everybody stop crunching and sit down."</p>
<p>While Eliot picks up the now-empty tray from the center to return it to the kitchen, Quentin sits beside Julia, returning the playful glare she shoots him. From the way she gently brushes crumbs off his front immediately afterwards, he assumes he's forgiven for teasing her earlier. Penny and Alice sit across from them, and Margo takes her seat at the head of the table, between Kady and Josh. They all quiet down as soon as she settles in, and something tells Quentin it isn't just an effect of her alpha influence.</p>
<p>"Alright, you all know what this is about, so we'll keep it short and sweet," Margo says, crossing her arms and looking around the table. "Tomorrow night, we're meeting with Marina's coven to try and set things straight about the Beast situation. Last time we kept it small as a courtesy, but since we're now guaranteed to be outnumbered, I think it's only fair we scrap that idea. So whoever wants to come is invited."</p>
<p>She waits for each of them to nod, then glances down the table at Julia and Quentin for a moment, almost suspiciously furtive. "Minus the tenderfoots."</p>
<p>"<i>What?</i>" Quentin scoffs in disbelief, exchanging an incredulous look with Julia. "Why? You can't seriously expect us to stay here while you're—"</p>
<p>"I can, and I do," Margo says over him. "I still don't want you guys out in the open. You'll be safer here."</p>
<p>Frustration crawls up Quentin's throat, but Julia speaks up before he can. "If the Beast really wants to get to us, I don't think it's going to matter where we are," she points out, holding Margo's unimpressed gaze steadily. "Won't we be safer with the pack? And we can give the coven a firsthand account of the attack, while we're at it. It makes more sense to bring us along."</p>
<p>Trying hard not to glare, Quentin clenches his fists under the table to keep his voice from wavering. "Please, Margo. We can help," he insists.</p>
<p>Margo doesn't seem sure, regarding them with narrowed eyes. The rest of the pack stays silent, just watching her deliberate, until Eliot speaks up from behind them. "We can't leave them here by themselves, Bambi," he says, lowering himself into the empty chair beside Quentin at the other end of the table. "If anyone else stays behind with them, that's even less of a united front we're presenting. Julia is right, if anything can convince Marina we're on her side, the near-death experience of a primary source is a good place to start."</p>
<p>"He has a point," Alice agrees, looking back at Margo with a frown. "They've had more direct contact with the Beast than any of us."</p>
<p>"And having two more sets of claws might be a deciding factor if things get hairy," Josh puts in.</p>
<p>"That's a big 'if'," Kady says dryly, but she puts an arm around Julia, drawing her a little closer. "Maybe it would be better to keep you in plain sight, though," she hums, plainly ignoring Julia's halfhearted pout.</p>
<p>Margo presses her lips together for a long moment, then sighs, waving a hand. "Alright, fine. It'll be a full pack affair, then. But," she adds sharply, fixing both Julia and Quentin with severe looks before they can do much more than glance at each other in relief, "you two are gonna stay close, and stay quiet. Star witnesses or not, we don't want to give the coven any reason for trouble."</p>
<p>They both nod, and Margo eventually drops her hard scowl for an exasperated huff instead. Quentin risks a peek at Eliot, surprised again, this time at the unexpected backup. He wonders if Eliot is still feeling bad for not bringing him along last time, but the smirk he's wearing gives nothing away.</p>
<p><i>You're welcome,</i> Eliot slips into his mind, his voice soft and almost wry. A little bit of amusement ripples through the bond before he looks back across the table. Quentin makes himself do the same, dragging his focus away from the tiny press of warmth and back to the conversation at hand.</p>
<p>"Do we have <i>any</i> sort of plan?" Penny is asking, his brow furrowed at Margo. "Or are we just showing up, guns blazing and hoping for the best?"</p>
<p>"No guns, literal or figurative," Margo says, recrossing her arms. "We're just going to talk. We need the coven's help." She looks around the table again, more to gather their attention than to scold anyone, this time. "The Beast is in the city. We know that much, but we don't know where."</p>
<p>Quentin feels Julia reach for his hand under the table, and grips her fingers back. "Until we do," Margo goes on, sighing a little, "we're just waiting around for him to show up again and leave bodies behind. But if the witches can locate him for us, we can hunt him down before anyone else gets hurt."</p>
<p>"Will they be willing to help us?" Quentin asks, trying not to sound skeptical, but he can't help thinking of Kady worrying about just that right after the attack at the warehouse.</p>
<p>Margo smiles at him, almost sweet if not for the glint in her eye as she shrugs. "With some light-to-heavy persuading, I think we can convince them to lend a hand."</p>
<p>"They agreed to see us," Kady says, nodding. "That's step one already crossed off. Step two is going to be figuring out a peace offering to start the meeting on the right foot."</p>
<p>Julia frowns at her. "What sort of offering would Marina want?"</p>
<p>Still grinning, Margo tilts her head and glances down the table. "El, you've got a handle on that, right?"</p>
<p>"In fact, I do," Eliot says smoothly, and when Quentin turns to look back at him, he's smirking again. "What do you say, Q?" he asks, playfully raising his eyebrows. "Up for another quest?"</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>After swearing to Margo that they'll stick together and that they will not, under any circumstances, take any detours, Quentin and Eliot head out the next afternoon to procure their peace offering. Eliot also endures a lecture about not letting Quentin out of his sight, which Quentin thinks is maybe a <i>bit</i> much, but he's careful not to complain. He's pretty sure Margo would still rather he be under house arrest.<p>Quentin isn't actually sure how Eliot talked her into letting him come along in the first place, but he's grateful. After a week of not being allowed to leave the house except to sit in the courtyard - and never without supervision - getting back out into the city proper is a welcome change. He feels a little bad for not asking if Julia could come too, but at least Kady and Penny aren't going anywhere either. She won't be sulking by herself like Quentin probably would be if Eliot had taken someone else instead.</p>
<p>As Eliot leads the way past shops and street corners, Quentin is reminded of the first excursion he was taken on, that other quest that ended up being more about shopping than anything. It's a little warmer now than it was then, and later in the day, though the sun is still pretty far from setting. He's more used to the city backdrop, not as distracted by every new sound and scent, and he actually knows where they're going this time - the bakery in Crown Heights, which apparently doesn't take very long to get to if you're not taking Josh's scenic route.</p>
<p>And somehow, despite everything else that's changed, hanging out with Eliot feels... normal. Or, like, as normal as things have been since they bonded, anyway. Quentin expected things to be more awkward after— well, sleeping together, but Eliot seems set on acting like the full moon never happened - or maybe he's just better at compartmentalizing than Quentin is. Either way, Quentin is still having a hard time keeping his thoughts from wandering back to that night, no matter how often he catches himself thinking about it.</p>
<p>He tries his best to keep his mind well away from it for this outing, though, so the steady contentment and anticipation he can sense on Eliot's end of things won't waver. It's kind of soothing, especially for the loose knots his stomach threatens to twist into once they turn the final almost-familiar corner and the tiny bakery comes into view.</p>
<p>"What kind of peace offering is the coven hoping for?" Quentin asks, squinting up the street. "I mean, I know you said the macarons are good here, but something tells me that's not really gonna cut it."</p>
<p>"Yeah, not quite," Eliot snorts. "This is just the drop-off point, remember. Last time, Marina was appeased with another few grams of Margo's claw trimmings, but for tonight's meeting we have to up the ante a bit."</p>
<p>Quentin grimaces a little. Fingernail clippings never seemed very desirable to him in the first place. "With what?"</p>
<p>"An alpha's fang," Eliot says, leaning closer and lowering his voice conspiratorially, even though the closest potential eavesdroppers are all the way across the street. "A powerful and versatile spell ingredient, according to Kady. And rare - it's fairly difficult to get ahold of one, as I'm sure you can imagine."</p>
<p>"You know someone willing to give us their tooth?" Quentin asks, bewildered. "An <i>alpha?</i>"</p>
<p>"Idri is nice like that," Eliot says with a smirk, shrugging as he pulls away. "Plus, he owes us a favour. We helped him out with a rat problem a while back."</p>
<p>Quentin does vaguely remember hearing Idri's name at Lunar Council. He didn't really get to meet him properly, as the alpha only showed up once he, Eliot, and Margo were on their way out - after Margo had trounced one of his packmates, no less. Hopefully Idri isn't one for grudges.</p>
<p>Eliot glances at Quentin and snickers at his nervous look. "Don't worry, Idri is much more pleasant than Ess. The apple fell <i>far</i> from the tree on that one."</p>
<p>"Wait, Ess is his <i>son?</i>" Quentin asks incredulously. "But didn't you say Ess challenged his alpha— so he fought his own dad?"</p>
<p>"It was very dramatic," Eliot says, nodding patiently. "But as we all know, family can be complicated."</p>
<p>A note of bitterness brushes at the edge of Quentin's mind and he frowns, but Eliot keeps his eyes forward, and it's gone a moment later. "With any luck," he sighs, "Ess is still grounded and Idri came alone."</p>
<p>"Here's hoping," Quentin mumbles, giving him one more careful glance before looking ahead as they cross the street. He purposefully steps a little closer to Eliot's side once they're back on the curb.</p>
<p>The bakery is near enough now that Quentin can smell the fresh bread, warm and inviting and, unfortunately, thick enough to cover the scent of anyone who might be inside waiting for them. Maybe Idri is having a relaxing macaron or pretzel right now, and isn't mad about Ess, or the tooth thing. Quentin grimaces again at the thought. He <i>really</i> hopes Idri just had a fang laying around, and didn't have to pull one out just for them.</p>
<p>"I still can't picture repaying a favour in teeth," he says, nearly shuddering. "Or any body part, actually."</p>
<p>Eliot snorts, nudging Quentin ahead of him to pass a row of parking meters in single file. "It was a big favour."</p>
<p>"Still. Idri must like you guys a lot."</p>
<p>"It's important to have allies," Eliot hums. "I suppose we have a working relationship. It's about as cordial as it can be with an ex."</p>
<p>Quentin blanks out for a moment while the words sink in. "With— what?" He whirls around to stare at Eliot, very nearly tripping backwards when the sidewalk widens out again. "He's— Idri is your ex? You and him were—?"</p>
<p>"Yes, once," Eliot says distractedly, steadying Quentin with a hand at his waist. "Or, well. A couple times. But it was a while ago."</p>
<p>Eliot doesn't seem upset, or concerned at all - which is good, Quentin supposes, but it's still a struggle to get his brain to move on from the screeching halt his thoughts have come to. He feels the knot in his stomach tighten, but not with anxiety, it's something else, something prickly.</p>
<p>Whatever it is must show on his face, or maybe Eliot can feel it too, because he looks up as he takes his hand back and huffs a laugh. "It's fine, Q," he says, rolling his eyes. "There was no messy breakup, or anything. I only ever saw him at Council and whenever he was in town for business, like this. It was never serious."</p>
<p>"Right, yeah," Quentin says weakly, shaking his head to unstick his thoughts. He's not sure why it caught him so off-guard - he <i>knows</i> Eliot and the others had whole lives here before he and Julia arrived - but he still has to push the prickly feeling away as Eliot beckons him along and starts toward the bakery again. Still, Quentin can't quite drop it. "So is that why Idri is, like— I mean, is he only doing this because you asked?"</p>
<p>"Could be," Eliot allows, frowning like he hadn't really considered it. "If it gets what we need, does it matter?"</p>
<p>"I guess not," Quentin mumbles. He's quiet for the last few yards to the bakery's front door, but as Eliot pulls it open with a jingle, another idea rises in his mind, even more distressing. "Wait, but if you and Idri had— you know, wouldn't that make you, like, Ess's father-in-law, or—"</p>
<p>Eliot grimaces at him. "Let's stop that train of thought right there, if you don't mind," he says dryly, and ushers Quentin inside before he can say anything else.</p>
<p>The bakery is fairly small, only a few tables next to the counter and display cases full of pastries and buns and other desserts. It's surprisingly empty today - almost completely, in fact, nothing like the crowded bustle it was when he and Julia were here last. It's not until Eliot exchanges a nod with the person behind the counter and they disappear into the back that Quentin considers the idea that Eliot and Margo might like this place for more than just the macarons. At least they won't have to worry about being overheard.</p>
<p>He feels Eliot's simmering anticipation start to smooth out into something unmistakably happy as he leads Quentin to the furthest table, where the only other patron is sitting - a Black man who stands up with a smile as they approach, easily recognizable as an alpha wolf even before Quentin catches his scent. He's kind of relieved Idri isn't wearing the furry shoulderpads he had on at Lunar Council.</p>
<p>"Eliot," Idri greets, his voice warm. "Nice to see you again." Eliot grins, extending a hand that Idri takes in both of his own, and for a second Quentin thinks he's going to kiss Eliot's knuckles - and then he can't help thinking of the ex factor, wondering if he used to say Eliot's name like that all the time— "And who's this you've brought along?"</p>
<p>Quentin nearly startles to find Idri's gaze turned on him. "This is Quentin," Eliot says, taking his hand back to nudge Quentin a step closer. "One of the newest in our pack."</p>
<p>"Ah, yes," Idri says, looking him over thoughtfully. "My son mentioned you."</p>
<p>Resisting the urge to cringe, Quentin does his best to look apologetic. "Right. Uh, sorry about that."</p>
<p>But to his surprise, Idri's lips quirk into another smile. "Don't be. Ess can be rash. I only hope he learned from the experience."</p>
<p>He moves to face Eliot again but pauses, almost doing a double-take as he regards Quentin more carefully, then relaxes into a surprised sort of grin. "Oh," he says, sounding almost— impressed? Quentin blinks at him, confused, and the faint discomfort he can feel from Eliot doesn't help. Idri turns to Eliot with raised eyebrows, still grinning. "Your mate?"</p>
<p>Embarrassment sweeps through Quentin like he's been doused with water. Of <i>course</i> Idri can tell, Eliot's scent must still be all over him. Idri isn't teasing, though - he seems genuinely pleased, laughing warmly when the two of them share a hesitant glance.</p>
<p>"No need to be shy, congratulations are in order," Idri says, then gives Quentin a conspiratorial smirk, nodding towards Eliot. "I never thought anybody would get this one to settle down."</p>
<p>Something in Quentin almost bristles at that, though he does his best to smile through it. It's not like he's somehow— <i>tamed</i> Eliot, or anything. He just almost died, and then one thing led to another.</p>
<p>"Don't start," Eliot huffs, rolling his eyes at Idri before Quentin can even open his mouth. He lifts one palm to slide across Quentin's back, and Quentin isn't sure if he means the touch to be soothing or not, but his annoyance fades a little either way. "I didn't bring him for you to gossip with."</p>
<p>"Of course not," Idri says innocently, but he's still smiling. "And I won't pry, it's just... unexpected, you understand."</p>
<p>"Maybe to you," Quentin says without thinking. It comes out a bit sharper than he means it to, and Eliot's hand pauses between his shoulderblades, bewilderment spilling through the bond. Even Idri seems surprised, but he recovers quickly and laughs again.</p>
<p>"Fair enough. It has been a while." He inclines his head for a moment, and though he's still addressing Quentin, his eyes are on Eliot when he looks up. "Maybe your mate is a different man than I remember."</p>
<p>Eliot scoffs a short laugh, glancing away from Idri to give Quentin an admonishing stare. Quentin tries to look sheepish, even if he doesn't really feel sorry - and maybe Eliot can tell, because for just a moment his uncertain discomfort is replaced by something softer and almost curious— but before Quentin can even try to decipher the feeling, Eliot seems to catch himself and drops his hand away as he turns back to Idri. The softness and uncertainty are both swept away, and Quentin isn't sure if it's the sudden loss of physical or mental sensation that leaves him almost dizzy. </p>
<p>"Well, regardless, we're all caught up," Eliot says lightly, giving Idri an easy smile. "Shall we move onto what we came here for?"</p>
<p>"By all means," Idri says, sitting back down with a gesture at the chair across from his. "I see you still prefer to get straight to the point," he adds, playful like they're sharing a joke. Quentin feels an inexplicable spike of annoyance and does his best to shove it down as Eliot directs him into the empty seat. He should probably keep his mouth shut for the rest of the meeting, just in case the alpha isn't so quick to laugh next time he says something stupid.</p>
<p>Still, while Eliot drags over a third chair from another table for himself, Quentin can't help stealing a furtive glance at Idri. He watches him watch Eliot, thinking about the way he touched Eliot's hand, wondering if he ever tried to make Eliot <i>settle down</i>, whatever that means - though it obviously doesn't matter now, Quentin reminds himself as Eliot sits beside him. He tries to shove down the swell of selfish relief that rises in him, too.</p>
<p>Eliot raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Idri reaches into a pocket to bring out a small leather pouch. He tips out the contents into his palm and holds up the alpha fang for them to see - a curved crescent of pale bone, thicker and sharper than Quentin expects, but nothing as gory as he was picturing.</p>
<p>"I have an inkling what you need this for," Idri sighs, turning the tooth over. "Should I bother telling you to reconsider?"</p>
<p>"Not unless you want to take it up with Margo," Eliot says with a smirk, slinging his arm across the back of Quentin's chair. "And you know how much she loves being told what to do."</p>
<p>Idri presses his lips together. "Perhaps you'll indulge me anyway." He drops the fang back into the pouch and sets it down on the table, lingering on it for a moment before he looks back up at Eliot. "Can you trust the coven?" he asks.</p>
<p>Eliot shrugs, his fingers tapping the tabletop in the same movement. "Probably not," he says dryly. "But standing them up won't go over too well, either."</p>
<p>Breathing a laugh, Idri shakes his head. "Stubborn as ever," he chides.</p>
<p>Quentin feels another weird, prickling barb of irritation press into him, and clenches his jaw against it. He's not even sure what exactly it is that's annoying him - something about Idri's teasing gaze? The familiarity in his tone? The way he seems to almost reach for Eliot's hand across the table before thinking better of it and folding both his hands in the center instead?</p>
<p>"Eliot," Idri goes on, more serious now, "you know I only say this because you have been a reliable ally - and because I care about you." His eyes search Eliot's face for a moment. "Would it not be better to rethink this?"</p>
<p>"What, meeting the witches?" Quentin asks, brow furrowing. "Or hunting the Beast?"</p>
<p>Eliot shoots him another reproving glance. <i>Leave it,</i> he warns, but Quentin ignores him. It's almost easy to call up the frustration he thought he'd run out of days ago, and it goes hand-in-hand with the impatience simmering in his chest. "They both seem like pretty good ideas to me," he says, just barely managing not to glare.</p>
<p>Idri's gaze finally slides away from Eliot to rest on Quentin instead. "I worry that Margo's plan is reckless," he explains, infuriatingly calm. "From your own experience, you know how dangerous an enemy the Beast is. Your pack alone cannot drive him away."</p>
<p>Quentin clenches his jaw again, scowling. "Well, what's the alternative? Hiding?"</p>
<p>"We can take the time to think through other options," Idri starts, but Quentin cuts him off.</p>
<p>"The Beast isn't going to just wait around," he grits out. "He's already here. If anyone else gets attacked while we're <i>thinking it through—</i> that's on us, on <i>our</i> hands." He might be heading into dangerous territory now, judging by Idri's narrowed eyes, but Quentin suddenly finds he doesn't give a shit. "And if you really cared about Eliot, you'd be helping us."</p>
<p>"<i>Quentin,</i>" Eliot says sharply, giving him a hard look, but it's really the low note of displeasure rumbling through the bond that makes Quentin close his mouth. "That's enough."</p>
<p>But Idri holds up a hand, regarding Quentin with an unreadable expression - too pensive for anger, but too stiff for curiosity. "No," he says eventually, quiet and thoughtful. "No, I suppose he's right."</p>
<p>Something tells Quentin it's not really the time for gloating, though. He watches as Idri slowly slides the pouch across the table, his fingers lingering again for just a second before he lets go and refolds his hands.</p>
<p>"Commune with the witches," he tells them, still stoic, but clearly something in him has been swayed. "If they agree to Margo's plan, send word to me, and I will do my best to convince our other allies to at least hear you out. But be aware," he adds, looking between them, "the coven will have their own terms."</p>
<p>"Right," Eliot mutters. He picks up the pouch and quickly tucks it into his vest before giving Idri a tight smile. "Well. Thanks for this."</p>
<p>Idri returns the look as Eliot stands up. Despite his words, he doesn't seem especially pleased with the outcome. Just as it's starting to hit Quentin how close he might have just come to getting mauled like Ess, Eliot wraps a hand around his arm and pulls him up out of his seat as well.</p>
<p>"We'll leave you to it, then," he says, clearly trying to ignore the awkward air. "I'd love to stay and chat, but Margo is waiting." Quentin kind of expects Idri to protest, even if it's just out of politeness, but the alpha only nods.</p>
<p>Eliot tugs at him again, and Quentin very nearly trips his way out of the tangle of chair legs before glancing back at Idri one more time - but Idri is already looking up at him, catching his eye unexpectedly. Quentin pauses under his pensive gaze, barely registering Eliot's fingers tightening on his arm.</p>
<p>"I have my own pack to look out for," Idri says softly, but his stare is unwavering. "They will always come first. But that doesn't mean I can't be concerned for yours." After a long second, he glances at Eliot instead, a small smile curving his lips. "Be careful, Eliot. We will keep our eyes open."</p>
<p>Quentin feels Eliot's grip loosen a little as he smiles back, nodding in thanks. "It's appreciated," he says, stepping forward and extending his free hand again. Idri takes it in just one of his own this time, and lets go fairly quick. "You'll hear from us soon," Eliot promises, and he doesn't wait for Idri to drop his gaze before he turns and resumes pulling Quentin toward the door.</p>
<p>Eliot all but drags him outside, hustling him down the sidewalk so fast that Quentin barely hears the bell over the door jingle. He's distracted enough not to mind, still trying to process Idri's final words - and still a little angry, if he's honest. He nearly startles when Eliot abruptly stops and whirls to face him.</p>
<p>"What?" Quentin prompts after a second, wary of Eliot's displeased expression.</p>
<p>"You know what," Eliot chides him, but his lips quirk like he's trying not to smile. "Look, that was cute, but you need to chill out."</p>
<p>Quentin splutters, frustration drowned out for a moment by a strange rush in his ears. "I— what— but Idri agreed with me!" Eliot raises an unimpressed eyebrow and Quentin looks away, huffing irritably at the sidewalk. "I'm just— I'm sick of other wolves not taking this seriously."</p>
<p>Eliot's annoyance seems to deflate a little at that. "I know, Q," he sighs, sliding his hand from Quentin's arm up to his shoulder and squeezing. "But you didn't need to be such a brat about it." He smirks at Quentin's indignant frown, something warm and pleased brushing at the edge of the bond. "Idri's one of the good ones, I promise."</p>
<p>Forcing out a breath, Quentin gives a sheepish nod. After all, Eliot would know, wouldn't he?</p>
<p>And Idri did seem friendly at first, before Quentin brought up the Beast. Even as they were leaving, he was pretty nice about making clear his low expectations. But Quentin still can't fully shake the weird irritation that sparks when he thinks of how Idri looked at Eliot - though that part might not be entirely related to Idri's disdain for their plan.</p>
<p>He does his best to push it down anyway. "Well, we have the tooth," he sighs, glancing back up at Eliot. "So what now?"</p>
<p>"Now, we go home and tell Margo the good news," Eliot says with a grin, spreading his palm across Quentin's back to urge him along again. "I'm sure she'll love to hear that you bullied Idri into agreeing to help."</p>
<p>It's hard for Quentin to keep frowning at him when he can feel Eliot's amusement spreading through his chest. "She'll probably ground me again," he manages to grumble.</p>
<p>Eliot just snickers, shaking his head. "When you get pissed, you sure don't fuck around, I'll give you that." His hand slides up to the back of Quentin's collar, almost teasing. "I had to remind myself I wasn't the one getting heated."</p>
<p>Quentin just barely suppresses a shiver, but Eliot is looking away when he sneaks a glance at him. Talking about the bond out loud is always a little weird, and a little thrilling at the same time. They managed to gloss over it with Idri, but now...</p>
<p>"Hey, um— speaking of that," Quentin says tentatively, taking a deep breath. "Alice wants to talk to me and Julia about the full moon again, and also about... us. The mate bond, I mean," he quickly clarifies, face heating as he stumbles over it. "Probably not anything specific, but, like, how it— feels, I guess, and. Stuff like that."</p>
<p>"Alright," Eliot says slowly. Quentin risks another peek at him, but his profile doesn't offer much - though Quentin can feel something hazy at the back of his mind, drawing the warmth out— is Eliot worried, or annoyed, or something else entirely? "So what?"</p>
<p>"So are you— is that okay?" Quentin asks. He remembers Julia frowning at him, suddenly, her saying <i>it's private</i> and him— disagreeing, for some reason, even though right now it really does feel like a step too far. He's about to say so when Eliot's mood shifts, and whatever he was feeling is abruptly swept away and replaced by a faraway, indistinguishable blur.</p>
<p>It's the same sudden loss of sensation that Quentin felt in the bakery, like Eliot has pushed a thought, or a feeling, whatever it was, out of his mind entirely - out of <i>both</i> their minds, far from Quentin's reach.</p>
<p>"Sure, why not?" Eliot says lightly, before Quentin can fully process the change. They're reached the row of parking meters by now, and Eliot's hand falls away so he can slip past and walk ahead of him. "You don't need my permission, Q," he says over his shoulder. "Tell Alice whatever you want."</p>
<p>"I— oh," Quentin says, blinking for a moment before he realizes he's paused in the middle of the sidewalk. "Right, um— okay, yeah."</p>
<p>As he hurries after Eliot, he reminds himself of the same thing he thought of before assuring Julia that this exact conversation would be pointless to have - whatever is between them now isn't supposed to matter. And he even told her that Eliot wouldn't care, didn't he?</p>
<p>Eliot does wait for him to catch up, though, and seems to have brushed the whole thing off by the time they're back in step with each other. Quentin tries to do the same, but whatever casual ease Eliot effortlessly slips into definitely isn't one-size-fits-all.</p>
<p>He's still caught on the shift, the abrupt change from steady warmth to something distant and out of focus. He didn't imagine that, did he? Eliot's mood seems so muted now, Quentin almost feels like he's half-asleep again. He supposes it's a good thing. The less he can sense from Eliot, the easier it'll be to keep his mind off the bond, and the full moon, and— everything else. Right?</p>
<p>Quentin forces himself not to prod at the blurry impressions coming through and tries to focus on whatever Eliot has started talking about instead - something about the others waiting at home, early dinner plans, closing the bar for the night - but Eliot keeps his hands in his pockets for the rest of the journey, and despite his best efforts, Quentin finds it hard to concentrate on anything else.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>When they get back to Haven, it becomes apparent that the rest of the pack apparently went for the late lunch option instead, leaving Quentin and Eliot with the kitchen to themselves. Which is fine, except Quentin had a hard enough time remembering to respond to Eliot's running commentary in the right places during the walk, and he doesn't think he could keep it up for much longer.<p>Especially if Eliot asks what's wrong. Quentin honestly isn't sure what he'd even say to that.</p>
<p>Luckily, Alice is lying in wait, notebook already in hand, to drag Quentin away from the kitchen - and Eliot - for the interview he promised her. Quentin doesn't have much of an excuse <i>not</i> to go, since he did literally just tell Eliot on the way here that he was going to be talking to her, and he could certainly use the distraction. Plus, their meeting with the coven isn't until after sundown, and the sky has only just started to tinge yellow. He just hopes Eliot can't feel his relief as Alice leads him off down the hall.</p>
<p>It's not until he's sitting on her bed again, with Alice in the desk chair across from him, that Quentin remembers she wants to talk about the full moon, so maybe it's less of a relief than he thought. To make matters worse, Julia apparently already completed her own interview while he was out, and it becomes very apparent to Quentin after only a few stilted answers how much easier this was when she was there for him to play off of.</p>
<p>"So it was definitely better than last time," Alice summarizes, tapping her pen against her scant few notes. She manages to sound polite even though Quentin is pretty sure she's losing her patience. "You felt closer to all of us, especially when we were out in the yard, and you stayed outside to look at the moon all night."</p>
<p>"Well, I— I thought about it," Quentin corrects. Alice looks up, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, but he hesitates - that's getting a little close to the part of the night he's been trying to think around this whole time.</p>
<p>But she doesn't need the details, he reminds himself, just the general... sequence of events, right? "I went back inside after a bit," he explains, spreading his palms over his knees to keep from fidgeting. "For the rest of the night, I was, uh. Hanging out with Eliot."</p>
<p>Alice blinks in surprise, but quickly smiles. "Oh! Okay, great!" She ducks her head again to jot down a new heading. "And... how was that?"</p>
<p>"Um. Fine?" Quentin tries, more of a squeak than he's really aiming for. He clears his throat while Alice writes, carefully picking at the very edges of the night in his memory. "The, um— the mate bond was... stronger, I think. Sort of like how the pack bond was, you know, easier to feel, I guess? So we just, uh— we talked. About that." They definitely exchanged a few words before they went upstairs, didn't they? That counts. And while they were— Eliot did say he could feel him, just before he—</p>
<p>"And how does your bond feel now?" Alice asks, snapping Quentin's attention back to her. "Has it changed at all since the full moon?"</p>
<p>Quentin swallows hard. "I don't… I don't think so." That's the conclusion they keep reaching every time it gets brought up, at least - that nothing has changed. But is that still true?</p>
<p>The bond itself doesn't really feel any different, except for Eliot's end of things shifting in and out of focus, although that was happening even before the full moon. Eliot's presence has remained clear in Quentin's mind, even when his mood hasn't.</p>
<p>But Quentin is still stuck on how flippantly Eliot had brushed him off when he asked about talking to Alice. He was expecting Eliot not to care, but it still... hurt, just a little. Like maybe he sort of wanted Eliot to tell him no, or get mad, or— something. Except he's not sure why. </p>
<p>Eliot has said that this whole thing is no big deal before, after all - several times, in fact. And wasn't it Quentin who said that the full moon didn't have to mean anything? At the time, it was kind of a relief that things would stay the same between them, but the more Quentin thinks about it now, the less soothing it is. So maybe things <i>have</i> changed— or is he just— confused?</p>
<p>Well. He <i>is</i> confused, because Eliot keeps making like none of it matters, like he doesn't care, but that's not the way it feels. Not when Eliot was trying to scold him after the bakery, not even when he offered to let Quentin stay in his bed yesterday morning - and Quentin still has a clear memory of Eliot's hands on him in their patch of moonlight, and Eliot's cock pressed against his through their clothes, and Eliot <i>kissing</i> him.</p>
<p>He remembers feeling good, and wanting to touch, and having everything reflected back at him, the sparks and the heat and Eliot's want, and— he's sure of all that. He knows what he felt.</p>
<p>Still, maybe it really was just the moon or just the bond, side effects and whatever else - but there's a stubborn part of Quentin that doesn’t want to believe that. If that’s all it was, and he <i>knows</i> that, then why can't he ignore the memories? Why can’t he push the night out of his mind? Why can he still remember Eliot's touch like it's only just slipped away?</p>
<p>"Alice," he says abruptly, cutting her off halfway through her next question, a half-formed thought slowly turning over in his mind. "Can the mate bond— can it make you... feel things that you don't— like, stuff you wouldn't normally feel?"</p>
<p>"Depends what you mean," Alice says, just a little tight with annoyance at the interruption. "I've heard of the bond allowing for a sort of emotional telepathy - that's what you made it sound like while we were cleaning up the bar a few days ago. You've probably felt whatever Eliot is feeling."</p>
<p>"No, not from him," Quentin sighs, shaking his head. It doesn't help that his brain hasn't fully figured out what he's really trying to ask. "I mean, like— something completely separate."</p>
<p>Furrowing her brow, Alice slowly closes her notebook. "Like, the bond <i>itself</i> influencing what you feel?"</p>
<p>It doesn't quite click, but Quentin nods anyway. Alice frowns a little deeper. "I don't think so," she says uncertainly, like she's working it out as she speaks. "It can't make something from nothing. I mean, it's not like the mate bond is what makes a couple fall in love, right?" She gives Quentin a thoughtful look. "If anything, it just builds on what's already there."</p>
<p>Something tenuous flutters in Quentin's chest, then tightens when he tries to breathe around it. "Okay, but— so what does that—"</p>
<p>His focus is wrenched away before he can put the rest of the words in order, startling at Margo's voice pushing into his mind. <i>Everybody's shit better be together in fifteen, 'cause we're heading out in twenty,</i> she reports, loud and haughty as if she's thrown the door open without knocking. <i>Dress to impress, or intimidate - or both, if you're feeling saucy. And bring shoes you can walk in.</i></p>
<p>Apparently having heard the broadcast just as clearly, Alice caps her pen and rolls the chair back to her desk. "I think we're about done, anyway," she sighs, setting the notebook down on a stack of folders. "We can come back to it if you think of anything else, or— well, I'd have to dig them up, but I can find you some of the other accounts I've gotten about mate bonds, if you're still curious. I'm not sure how much they would actually... Quentin?"</p>
<p>His gaze has slipped down to his hands in his lap, and he looks up to find Alice staring back at him concernedly. "You okay?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Quentin says quickly, pasting on a smile as he stands up. "For, uh, the bond stuff— you really don't have to, I mean, it's not— it's not a huge deal, so don't worry about it. I'll, um. I'll see you downstairs." He hurries to the door before her suspicious frown can fully take shape. </p>
<p>Once he's out in the hall, Quentin pauses to let out a long, steadying breath. He's still not really clear on whether Alice answered his question or not, but he doesn't have time to think about it now.</p>
<p>He gathers up the uncertainty and confusion and weird breathlessness, and tries to imagine closing it all up in a box that he shoves away into the back of his mind. He can deal with it later - the coven meeting is more important at the moment, and he doesn't want to be distracted. He's not going to give Margo any reason to regret letting him come along.</p>
<p>Which, Quentin supposes, does mean adhering to the dress code. He half-expects to find Margo in his room when he gets upstairs, already laying something out for him, but she seems to trust him with this, at least. He purposefully forgoes a hoodie in favor of a collared shirt and the dark jeans that he wore to Lunar Council, and hopes nobody's expecting him to put on a tie. It's maybe not overly-impressive, but this meeting probably isn't supposed to be a formal event.</p>
<p>He and Josh (not wearing a tie either, thank god) are the first ones to come downstairs. While they wait for the others in the courtyard, Quentin keeps glancing through Haven's darkened windows and getting surprised by how empty it is. He wonders how Margo got everyone to leave before sunset. Actually, knowing how the bar usually reacts when she raises her voice, maybe she just had to ask.</p>
<p>The rest of the pack eventually make their way downstairs, Julia and Kady first, then Alice, then Penny - also without a tie, though Quentin doesn't know what else he expected since Penny's shirt barely has a front, let alone a collar - and finally, Margo and Eliot descend the balcony stairs together. All grouped up, it doesn't much look like they're all headed to the same event. Quentin thinks he and Julia seem to have gone in the same sort of more-than-casual less-than-business direction, but Kady and Penny both seem to have gone straight for Intimidate rather than Impress, and Margo's high-collared dress is— well, honestly just a different kind of intimidating, so maybe it works as a whole.</p>
<p>Quentin sneaks a glance at Eliot while he and Margo are ushering the rest of them through the gate, taking in his subtle pinstripes, his patterned waistcoat, his elegantly knotted tie (of course) and matching pocket square - but he only realizes once he's past that he can feel ripples of Eliot's anticipation again, the same way he could outside the bakery.</p>
<p>He never quite notices the exact moment that Eliot comes back into focus, but it's always a bit of a relief. It steals some of his concentration though, and for a moment Quentin considers folding those impressions away in the box with the rest of the things he's not thinking about— but maybe having something steady at the edge of his thoughts will calm his nerves a little. He already feels more settled and they've hardly left the house.</p>
<p>Margo insists that the chosen meeting place is only a short walk away, and as the sun sinks out of sight, the eight of them set off into the cool summer evening. They make a sort of procession, Margo and Eliot leading the way with Alice and Kady behind them, then Quentin and Julia, and Josh and Penny closing them in. The city is still bright and busy around them when the moon comes out, but the sidewalk stays clear and nobody crosses their path.</p>
<p>It's like a hunt, like the whole pack is in tune with each other - Quentin can see the yellow flashes of their eyes whenever they're between streetlights. He revels in the feeling, in the <i>prowl</i>, even when they turn onto darker streets where the noise of traffic and nightlife don't reach - but he nearly stops short when he realizes where Margo is leading them to.</p>
<p>The coven's warehouse looms out of the dark, looking as derelict as ever. Quentin can't suppress a shiver. He breaks formation at the end of the driveway, letting the others pass by as he stares hesitantly up the path. "We're meeting the coven <i>here?</i>" he asks, just in case he has it wrong.</p>
<p>Josh looks back at him and then up at the warehouse, brow furrowed like he hadn't really considered the situation before. "Okay, I'll admit it's a little grim."</p>
<p>Julia stalls out beside Quentin, looking equally uneasy. "I thought they would have abandoned this place," she says quietly.</p>
<p>"They did," Kady says, backing up a step to beckon her along. "It's neutral ground, now. Marina didn't want to share the new HQ location just yet." Julia wavers for a second longer before following her, and Quentin hurries after them if only just to avoid being left alone.</p>
<p>He can see additional security runes on the ground as they get closer, painted over and around the old ones. Stepping over them dispels the mirage and reveals the true condition of the warehouse - there are bright fluorescent lights on inside, and a group of people gathered between the storage shelves. Even with the illusion of dilapidation broken, Quentin still doesn't feel great about being there. He wonders if Julia keeps expecting to smell blood on the air like he does.</p>
<p>He hesitates again at the edge of the lot, just outside the pool of light, while the others follow Margo inside toward the witches - well, most of the others. Eliot's hand comes up to rest between Quentin's shoulders, calming the itch of hackles along his spine that he hadn't even noticed were prickling. </p>
<p>"A little tense?" he snickers as Quentin jerks his head up. "Hey, relax. This is bound to be interesting enough without adding an unexpected shift to the mix."</p>
<p>He must be able to feel Quentin's discomfort, so there's not much point denying it. Quentin huffs a sigh and tries his best to unclench his muscles. "I didn't think I'd ever be back here," he admits, glancing warily up at the second floor windows. "It's just… weird." </p>
<p>"I know. It's not ideal for us, either." Eliot's thumb swipes over his shoulderblade, gentle but grounding. "You did ask to come, though."</p>
<p>Quentin shoots him a halfhearted glare but Eliot just grins, completely unfazed, and gives him a little nudge. Looking back into the warehouse and at the rest of the pack gathering before the witches, Quentin takes a breath, bracing himself, then steps across the threshold. Eliot's hand drops away when he moves, but he still stays close as they both head over to join the others.</p>
<p>It looks like they're not going to bother with any sort of ceremony for this meeting, instead just congregating in the center of the warehouse, the crowd of witches on one side and the pack on the other. The coven doesn't seem particularly happy to see them, but they're not being openly hostile, at least. Some of the witches are grouped up and murmuring to each other, a few are scowling, and some are just staring - especially at him, and at Julia on the other end of the line they've formed.</p>
<p>Quentin tries not to fidget or shrink away from the glares, his shoulder throbbing weakly - or maybe he's imagining that part. Either way, he keeps his gaze on Margo and Kady in front of them, avoiding the witches' eyes and very carefully not thinking about the staircase beyond the shelves.</p>
<p>Marina, standing a little ahead of the others with her arms crossed, looks almost bored, like she's not at all surprised to see the whole pack has come along. Her expression sharpens a little when Margo brings out the pouch holding Idri's tooth.</p>
<p>"Another gift?" she asks, her dry tone betrayed by her obvious curiosity. "You must be more desperate than I thought."</p>
<p>"Maybe we're just feeling generous," Kady says easily. Smirking, Margo taps the fang out into her palm and holds it up for them all to see.</p>
<p>The whispering of the other witches gets a little louder, and even Marina takes a second to get her surprise under control. With a twist of her fingers, the tooth lifts out of Margo's palm and floats across the gap between them into Marina's waiting hands.</p>
<p>Quentin can't help being impressed by the tiny show of magic, awe cutting through his mounting anxiety for a moment. He feels more than hears Eliot breathe a laugh beside him. Faint amusement brushes against him as Eliot's presence nudges his, as if reminding him to pay attention.</p>
<p>He focuses back on Marina, and the entranced look on her face as she strokes one finger along the pale fang. "<i>Very</i> generous," she hums, then, after a pause- "This isn't one of yours, though."</p>
<p>"Of course not," Margo snorts. "You know me better than that."</p>
<p>"More than whoever gave this up, clearly," Marina says, finally looking away from the tooth to smile up at them. "And this is more than just a gift, isn't it?"</p>
<p>Kady shrugs. "'Bribe' doesn't sound as friendly." Quentin is a little amazed at how easily she and Margo both shift into business mode, their expressions only keeping the barest hint of playfulness. "We need you to hear us out. I figure that buys us at least a few minutes of your time."</p>
<p>"A few," Marina agrees, glancing down at the tooth one more time before she hands it off to another witch and recrosses her arms. She sweeps her eyes across the rest of the pack then settles her expectant gaze back on Kady and Margo. "Alright, you have my attention. Tick-tock."</p>
<p>The smile Margo gives her is so sharp that Quentin isn't sure how Marina manages not to flinch. "Well, judging by your choice of venue," she sighs, waving a hand at their surroundings, "I'm assuming you know why we asked you to meet us." Some of the other witches glance around somewhat nervously. Quentin supposes that being here might not be so pleasant for them, either.</p>
<p>"The wolf responsible for killing your covenmates is still in the city," Kady says, more serious now, looking back at the coven unwaveringly. "He's bound to show up again sooner or later. There's something here that he wants."</p>
<p>If Marina is affected by the mention of the dead witches, she doesn't show it. "And what's that?" she asks, dry again.</p>
<p>"Us." Julia takes a step forward to stand beside Kady, glancing over at Quentin as she does. He makes himself inch out from their lineup as well, and feels his stomach twist when the witches' eyes swivel to him.</p>
<p>"This wolf, the Beast— he's killing entire packs," Julia explains, looking beseechingly at Marina. "One of them was ours, before we came to the city. We escaped, but now he's—"</p>
<p>"We think he followed them here," Margo continues, her steady gaze still on the witches even as she motions for Julia to step back. "The day this place was attacked, he came after them again. It was impulsive and unplanned, but he still managed to get uncomfortably close. I don't want to give him the chance to take another shot."</p>
<p>Marina raises her eyebrows. "Sounds like wrong place, wrong time to me. What makes you think it's so personal?"</p>
<p>"He said so." Quentin is almost shocked to hear himself speak up, but the words are out before he can help it, irritation simmering low in his chest again. He swallows around a flare of nerves when Marina turns her cold stare onto him. "He looked me in the eye and told me he'd come back."</p>
<p>She seems to find that— mildly interesting, at least, and regards Quentin for just long enough that he starts to wonder about mind-reading magic before she turns back to Margo. "So you want to drive this wolf out of the city?" she asks, drumming her fingers against her arm.</p>
<p>"We want to hunt him down," Margo corrects. </p>
<p>A few of the witches scoff or grumble in disbelief, but they quiet down quickly when Marina narrows her eyes. With her hands on her hips, Margo smirks back at them like she's gotten the exact reaction she planned for.</p>
<p>"If the Beast is sticking around, we might as well take advantage," she says. "When we got the drop on him before, we almost overpowered him before he took off. This time, we'll be prepared, and we'll have other packs ready to join us." She's sort of embellishing a little, considering that they only really have Idri on their side right now, plus whoever he potentially manages to convince, but Quentin supposes that presenting confidence is probably important.</p>
<p>"We can handle all the ass-kicking," Margo goes on, nodding at Kady before settling her gaze on Marina again. "We just need to know where to find him."</p>
<p>Marina looks coolly back at her, one eyebrow arched. "And you want our help with that."</p>
<p>"Don't tell me it's beyond your capabilities," Margo scoffs. Marina's expression turns sharp for a second before she seems to forcibly smooth it out into a tight smile.</p>
<p>"I'm just wondering why we should care," she says, almost sweetly. "This is wolf business."</p>
<p>Quentin's heart sinks. "But you know what happened here," he insists, stepping forward almost without thinking. Having every eye turn on him is still uncomfortable, but he doesn't let himself look away from Marina. How could the coven not be willing to help? How could they not <i>want</i> to, after what the Beast did to them? "Those witches— weren't they your friends? What if something like that happens again?"</p>
<p>Marina bristles, definitely affected this time. "All the more reason <i>not</i> to get involved," she bites out.</p>
<p>"Maybe," Margo allows, raising a hand to stop Quentin moving any further. "Maybe not. It's not a guarantee he'll leave you alone - you've already seen that, when he attacked this place." Marina turns a glare on her, but Margo doesn't back down. "You can't just decide not to get in his way. He'll put you there if it suits him."</p>
<p>Julia cuts Marina off before she can retort, struggling to step out again despite Penny's hand tight on her wrist. "Enough people have died already," she says, a fervent waver in her voice. "On both sides. We need to find him before anyone else gets hurt."</p>
<p>The other witches stay quiet this time, and while a lot of them don't appear swayed, there are a few that Quentin sees glance hesitantly at Marina. She herself still doesn't seem especially moved, but— her scowl weakens just a little, like her indignance is unexpectedly slipping away. </p>
<p>It still takes her a long few seconds to give in, finally huffing an annoyed breath as she rolls her eyes. "Fine," she grumbles, crossing her arms even tighter. "We'll help you with your hunt. Call it a deductible for the alpha fang."</p>
<p>A weight lifts off Quentin's chest. He's pretty sure the whole pack is breathing a sigh of relief, even as imperceptibly as Margo and Kady both relax their shoulders. He feels a faint press of it from Eliot too, and when Eliot's hand hovers over his arm, Quentin lets himself be drawn back a step closer to him.</p>
<p>Marina, meanwhile, has recovered enough of her aloof, unaffected air to look like she's bored with the whole situation again. "There's a spell I have in mind," she tells them, "but we'll need a few things for the casting to give it enough range to cover the whole city."</p>
<p>"I should've known you'd have a shopping list," Kady sighs, but Marina only bats her eyelashes innocently. "Alright, do your worst."</p>
<p>Marina clears her throat and holds up one finger. "First, gemstones, to be our eyes. Make sure they're cut. You know how it works, the more facets, the wider the reach of the spell." She waits for Kady to nod before raising a second finger. "We'll cast it here, upstairs, where we know the wolf has been. That should be enough to get the spell started, but we'll still need a compass - someone who's been touched by the wolf, to set us on the right track."</p>
<p>She tilts her head to glance at Julia behind them, and then over at Quentin with an almost playful smile. "Which of you has he made bleed?"</p>
<p>Quentin's shoulder throbs again, though it's dulled when Eliot places his hand there. "Both of us."</p>
<p>"Yikes. Well," Marina hums, tapping her fingers against her chin, "we should only need one, but I suppose it won't hurt to be extra specific."</p>
<p>"So, diamonds and a couple traumatized helping hands," Margo summarizes. "Is that everything?"</p>
<p>Marina drops her hand and nods. "We'll supply the other components ourselves." She pauses though, and takes a moment to look over her shoulder at the other witches. Quentin wonders again if they might have their own sort of telepathy before she turns back with a new glint in her eye. "But we do have one caveat."</p>
<p>Another twist of anxiety rolls over in Quentin's stomach as he remembers Idri's warning. It seems like he was right after all about the coven having their own terms to the agreement. Suddenly the crowd of witches behind Marina look a bit more menacing.</p>
<p>Margo, at least, doesn't seem surprised. "Shoot."</p>
<p>"We get to choose the date and time of casting," Marina says easily, like she was building to this all along. "We're only interested in one specific window: next week, the night of the new moon."</p>
<p>Unease rising in his chest, Quentin watches Kady and Margo glance at each other for a moment of silent discussion. The rest of the pack doesn't seem too pleased either - Julia is the one with a steadying hand on Penny's arm, now - and he feels a dim sort of irritation lapping at him through the bond. He looks up at Eliot with his brow furrowed.</p>
<p><i>Why that night?</i> he asks, prodding confusedly. <i>Because the new moon will make the Beast weaker?</i></p>
<p><i>Not just him,</i> Eliot sighs back, his eyes still on Margo. <i>We'll be at our lowest, too.</i></p>
<p>"Is that necessary?" Margo asks, hands on her hips again as she gives Marina an unimpressed look. "Kind of seems like you don't trust us."</p>
<p>"Honestly, I don't," Marina says with a shrug. "But it's not about you. There are other wolves in this city who I trust even less, and if we're going to be exposed, we're not taking any chances." </p>
<p>Annoyance flares in Quentin's gut, driving out the unease and anxiety. She might not be taking a risk, but they certainly will be, if they're spending the night out in the dark with the coven - and even though he knows every wolf will be affected, he can't quite imagine the Beast being rendered totally powerless under the new moon. </p>
<p>Marina sweeps her eyes across the pack again, impassively taking in their reactions. "Look, the spell won't be perceptible to the person it's cast on, so you'll still be free to plan your ambush for whatever night you want— <i>after</i> the new moon." She raises her eyebrows expectantly. "That's our condition. Take it or leave it."</p>
<p>Quentin moves to step forward, mouth already half-open to protest, but Eliot's hand tightens on his shoulder and holds him back. He's still regaining his balance when Margo looks back at Marina with her chin up. "Deal."</p>
<p>"That's what I thought," Marina says, sweet-voiced again as she scrunches her nose. Quentin is amazed that Margo manages not to throttle her, let alone smile back. "So, when the new moon rises at the end of next week, we'll meet you here for the casting. Bring the gemstones and the compass - one or both - and we'll find the Beast for you. Don't be late," she adds, turning a playfully stern pout on the others. "This offer lasts one night only. At first light, we're gone."</p>
<p>The meeting is effectively over after that. Quentin is sort of relieved about the abrupt ending, and follows the others out of the warehouse still trying to quell his frustration. Marina doesn't bother showing them to the door, but the coven does watch the pack leave, which is a little eerie - especially when they pass beyond the runes and the warehouse falls into darkness again behind them.</p>
<p>Nobody speaks until they're almost a whole block away in the full dark of the sidestreets. "So, did that go well, or not?" Josh asks, somewhat tentatively. "Like, were we hoping for that kind of a <i>Deal or No Deal</i> situation?"</p>
<p>"We knew she would be expecting us to ask for something," Kady sighs. "That's why we primed her with the alpha fang."</p>
<p>Josh squints between her and Margo, walking ahead of him. "And that means… it went according to plan?"</p>
<p>Margo doesn't answer. Beside her, Eliot hums noncommittally. "More or less."</p>
<p>"So what now?" Penny asks, frowning over his shoulder. "Diamonds? Do we have a jeweler on the payroll?"</p>
<p>"Fogg probably knows someone," Alice suggests. "And, I mean, there's the literal Diamond District two trains away."</p>
<p>"What about the new moon?" Quentin blurts, maybe a bit louder than he needs to considering the deserted road they're heading down. "Are we just, like, completely fine with that part?"</p>
<p>Josh grimaces. "Well, I wouldn't say I'm ecstatic, but—"</p>
<p>"It's all we've got, so we're sticking with it," Margo says firmly, and stops on the sidewalk to stare down the rest of them. "If any of you have a better idea, you're welcome to march back there and try talking Marina into it."</p>
<p>When no one says anything, she lets out a huff and goes on a bit more calmly. "The plan still stands. We'll learn the Beast's location on the new moon, and once we're powered up again, we'll get the whole band together and go hunting. Now, step it up," she barks, turning back and starting down the street again. "We're out late enough as it is."</p>
<p>Quentin still isn't fully satisfied, but feels cowed enough by her annoyed tone that he stays quiet for the rest of the walk home. He catches snippets of a few whispers between the others, but on the whole, footsteps on the pavement are the loudest sound any of them make.</p>
<p>The moon is high in the sky when they finally make their way through the creaking courtyard gate. Quentin hangs back while the others go up the balcony stairs ahead of him, and stares up into the brightness for a few minutes, trying to let the quiet settle the rest of his irritation. The moon is more than half-full right now, but with every sliver that disappears over the next week and a half, they'll get closer and closer to the Beast.</p>
<p>Quentin can't really blame Marina for wanting to be cautious, but he's still annoyed that she's making them take the risk - and that they have to wait so long for their chance. He's sure Marina could actually do the spell whenever she wanted, and she probably has a many-faceted gemstone lying around somewhere, too.</p>
<p>He eventually climbs the stairs still feeling a little grumbly, but is surprised to find Eliot on the balcony, leaning his forearms on the railing. His tie is loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and he's lit from behind by the soft glow from the windows. Quentin pauses on the top step, the sight catching him off-guard. Was Eliot waiting here for him? Or just watching the moon by himself?</p>
<p>He doesn't get a chance to think much about it before Eliot glances at him with a smile, raising his eyebrows. "Cooled off a bit?"</p>
<p>His pointing it out goads another flare of irritation in Quentin's stomach, but embarrassment quickly washes it away. He looks down sheepishly as he climbs the last step. "You... felt all that, huh."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes," Eliot says, huffing a laugh. "You're not the only one who's pissed about it, believe me. But Margo's right, we don't have much in the way of an option B."</p>
<p>"I know," Quentin sighs heavily, crossing the balcony when Eliot beckons him over. "It just— the whole 'a wolf is a wolf' thing, and doing it on the new moon… it's like a really unfunny allegory for that one story." He crosses his arms and leans back against the railing beside Eliot, frowning up at him. "You know, the one you told us. <i>The Witch and the Wolf</i>."</p>
<p>Eliot snorts. "I'm not sure if Marina did that on purpose, but I wouldn't put it past her. She's certainly petty enough." Still smirking, he turns away to look up at the moon, the light catching in his eyes. "At least there's no angsty fight to the death over the love of a beautiful and mysterious woman scheduled."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Quentin says wryly, ducking his head. "Just a regular fight to the death the day afterwards."</p>
<p>"Better or worse than a love triangle?" Eliot hums. At Quentin's unamused huff, he turns back to smile at him again, softer than before. Quentin can feel his quiet reassurance like it's wafting off him. "You don't have to worry, Q. In two weeks' time, all of this will be over with and everything will go back to normal."</p>
<p>He's not wrong, Quentin supposes - at least, not if the spell works, and the other packs are willing to help them, and the Beast doesn't show up between now and the new moon. But saying that probably won't help.</p>
<p>"I'm not sure I really... know what normal is," he says instead, tucking his hair behind his ear. "It's been kind of all over the place ever since me and Julia got here. I mean, joining the pack, then the first full moon not feeling right, and then Lunar Council was a mess..."</p>
<p>He knows Eliot is frowning at him, ready to interrupt, but he keeps going, letting the words unspool from him. "I guess it was sort of fine until the Beast showed up again, but after that, like, almost dying? And now, this whole thing with the witches, it's just— I don't know," he sighs, shaking his head. "Normal is pretty much a foreign concept at this point."</p>
<p>"So there have been some ups and downs," Eliot allows. He lifts one hand from the railing to settle on Quentin's shoulder, and gives him a playful smile when he looks up. "We'll figure it out, Q. We've gotten this far, haven't we?"</p>
<p>Quentin wants to nod, to smile back and feel his anxiety dissolve under Eliot's palm, but he can't quite manage it. Something tentative rises in his throat instead, and he can't swallow around it. "There's this, too," he says quietly, turning a little further towards Eliot. "Being... mates." </p>
<p>Eliot's split second of hesitation seems to last much longer when their eyes are locked. He eventually looks away, his smile a little thinner as his hand slips down Quentin's forearm and back to the railing. "What's there to say about that?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," Quentin says again, mouth twisting. There's probably a lot, actually - did they ever really talk about it? Eliot changed the subject pretty quickly last time they started to, but— it's just them and the moon right now, and the box full of things that Quentin has been ignoring all night is suddenly shoving itself to the forefront of his mind, everything he folded up inside spilling out. </p>
<p>"I'm just— everything else has been so fucked up," he says haltingly, uncrossing his arms. "But this… isn't. It's different, El, it's—"</p>
<p>"Different how?" Eliot asks dryly, but Quentin can feel something wavering in him, brushing almost timidly across the gap. "Different from what?"</p>
<p>Determination settles in Quentin's chest. Maybe Alice did answer his question, in a roundabout way - if the bond can't make something from nothing, then everything, every flare of heat, every spark down his spine, every urge to reach out and touch— that all has to have come from somewhere. He doesn't know how to even begin to explain that to Eliot, though.</p>
<p>Maybe he should wait until he's managed to put the words in order, but part of him is <i>excited</i>, shivery and breathless again just from the proximity to whatever it is he hasn't quite figured out the shape of. He just wants Eliot to know there's <i>something</i>. He wants to move closer and make Eliot look at him again.</p>
<p>"From all of it," Quentin says, gripping the railing to keep from gesturing wildly. "I mean, yeah, it's still sort of confusing sometimes, but... I don't think that's <i>all</i> it is."</p>
<p>He stares hard at Eliot's profile, at the uncertain tilt to his mouth, and imagines reaching out to the timid thing still hesitating at the edge of his mind. "You know what it was like the other night," he presses, but it comes out soft. "If it can feel like that—"</p>
<p>The wavering feeling crumples before he can touch it, dragged down by a sudden wash of dread that's gone almost before Quentin realizes what he's flinching at - and then Eliot pushes him out again, all sensation flung far across the expanse that opens between them. The whole balcony seems to tilt for a moment before his grip on the railing grounds him again. </p>
<p>"Quentin," Eliot says, half a sigh - and he does look at him then, but his expression has changed, his dull smirk almost disbelieving. It doesn't match anything Quentin could feel before his shutters came down. "Let's not overthink it."</p>
<p>Quentin frowns at him, desperation fluttering high in his throat. Doesn't Eliot remember how it felt to be so close? "But you— I thought I felt—"</p>
<p>He reaches for Eliot's hand on the railing, but Eliot pulls away before his fingers can close around it, turning to face him instead. "You felt <i>good</i>, because it was sex," he says patiently. "Maybe it was— I don't know, more intense than it would have been under regular circumstances. That could be an interesting upshot to this whole shared-emotional-cocktail thing we've got going. But that's all it was."</p>
<p>He's so detached all of a sudden, unconcerned, like Quentin wasn't just telling him— whatever he was trying to say. "I… I guess," Quentin manages, struggling to reel himself back in while his head is still spinning. Maybe he was wrong, then. Maybe he's making connections where they don't exist. Maybe Eliot didn't feel it the way he thought. But he was <i>sure—</i></p>
<p>"Look, it's late," Eliot says, straightening up and glancing over his shoulder at the sliding door. "We've had a less than pleasant evening, and there's still a lot to prepare for the hunt. I should probably send Idri an update, since Margo will want to meet with the other wolves sooner rather than later." He takes a step away from the railing, then pauses to look back. "Are you coming inside?"</p>
<p>Quentin drags his eyes up. He has to swallow hard before his voice will work. "Um. Yeah, in a minute."</p>
<p>"Okay." For a moment, Eliot looks like he might say something else, but he turns away and pulls the door open instead.</p>
<p>As it shuts behind him, Quentin makes himself look back up at the moon. The light was soothing before, but it doesn't do much for the knot of shame twisting itself up in his stomach. He'll just wait here until he can be sure he won't have to face Eliot again when he goes in - Quentin might not be able to tell what he's feeling right now, but he can still sense his presence just beyond the glass.</p>
<p>He seems so close that when the door slides open again, Quentin almost thinks it's Eliot coming back outside at first, and his chest lurches as he turns around - but it's Julia who leans out onto the balcony instead, and whatever she sees on Quentin's face makes her frown.</p>
<p>"Is everything okay?" she asks, stepping out to join him in the moonlight. "Eliot was being weird by the stairs just now, but he, like, stormed down to the bar when he saw me. Were you guys fighting?"</p>
<p>Quentin blinks at her, startled by the question. "What? No, we were— we were just talking. It's fine." </p>
<p>Julia gives him a skeptical look. "You say that a lot," she points out, undeterred by his turning away. "If I'm being honest, Q, it doesn't really seem fine. If you guys are—"</p>
<p>"We're not fighting," Quentin insists, letting out a breath. "I was mixed up about something, and he was just— we sorted it, okay?" He doesn't wait for her to press further, and releases his grip on the railing to head past her through the sliding door. "Look, I'm really tired, and I'm still kind of pissed about the whole thing with Marina, so just leave it."</p>
<p>"Okay," Julia says, gently enough that Quentin feels sort of bad for snapping at her. Instead of making a beeline for the stairs, he waits for her to step back inside, chewing on his lip while she slides the door shut.</p>
<p>"Sorry," he says quietly, deflating when she turns to face him again. "I'm just... gonna go to bed."</p>
<p>Julia slides a soothing hand down his arm. "Me too. Marina is pretty exhausting when she thinks she's screwing someone over."</p>
<p>She walks with him to the staircase, where he assumes she'll break off to head for Kady's room as usual, but she pauses at the foot of the steps. When he starts to climb, she catches his hand to stop him.</p>
<p>"Q," she says carefully, almost hesitant, "you'd tell me if something was… if it's ever not fine, right?"</p>
<p>Quentin nods slowly, frowning a little. "Yeah, of course."</p>
<p>"No, I mean it," she presses, tugging him down a step so he'll look back at her. "I know you and Eliot are both navigating this whole— permanent bond thing in your own way, figuring it out together, but..." She squeezes his fingers, searching his face. "I'm still here for you, if you need me."</p>
<p>The sincerity in her voice does soothe Quentin a little, her warmth washing over him the way it always does. "Thanks, Jules," he murmurs, eyes dropping to their joined hands. "Really. But it's okay, Eliot and I—" He pauses as the knot in his stomach twists a little further. "We're the same as we were before all this. We both know how we got here, and we're not, you know. Overthinking it."</p>
<p>Eliot's words feel a little weird in his mouth, but he musters up a reassuring smile for Julia, and it doesn't even feel that forced. "Marriage of convenience, remember? That's all it is." He manages half a shrug, squeezing her fingers back. "You don't have to worry about me."</p>
<p>Julia doesn't quite lose the concerned crease between her brows as she smiles at him, but she's apparently satisfied enough to let him go. Quentin watches her disappear down the hall before he continues upstairs by himself. It feels a bit like he's lying to her again, though maybe a little more intentionally, this time.</p>
<p>It's not that things are definitively <i>not fine</i>, really, it's just that he's not really sure how he's even feeling. Relieved? Guilty? Both? He wonders if Eliot can feel any of that, or anything at all from his end of the bond. Maybe he's closed off too, whether he means to be or not. Maybe some sort of a wall has sprung up between them— but he pushes that thought away, a distinctly Margo-like voice in his head scolding him for even considering it.</p>
<p>Still, he should probably just forget about the whole conversation on the balcony, shove the box back into its corner again and focus on not making things any more complicated than they already are. On finding whatever <i>normal</i> is, for Eliot's sake.</p>
<p>But something between them has definitely changed, and he can't just pretend it hasn't. He doesn't <i>want</i> to pretend. Eliot doesn't seem to agree, though, which Quentin is still confused about. Couldn't Eliot feel the same things that he did? Quentin really thought he had felt Eliot mirroring him in the moment, but... now he can't be sure.</p>
<p>No matter how long he spends thinking in circles about it, Eliot doesn't come up to his room again. He's still downstairs when Quentin falls asleep, trying not to wonder if Eliot can feel his curiosity through the fog between them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello from a different timezone we BACK baby. thank u for ur patience while i put all of my belongings in a 5x7 box now lets get into it<br/>in this chapter, quentin does some eavesdropping.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quentin isn't sure how exactly Idri spreads the word so quickly, but having his endorsement seems to pay off, and the gathering of those wolves willing to hear Margo's plan is set for only a couple days after their meeting with the coven. There aren't a ton of names on the guestlist that Margo relays, though it sure seems like a lot on the day of, when Quentin is standing at the top of the stairs and can sense all the strangers down in the bar. He knows it's only wolves that Margo trusts or were otherwise vouched for by Idri, but the idea still reminds him a little too much of Lunar Council. Regardless, Margo is confident that everyone who got this far will at least consider lending them a hand.</p>
<p>"It's a long commute just to say no," she scoffs, waving him away from the stairs. "Especially to my face, in <i>my house</i>. If they have the balls for that, they shouldn't shy away from a hunt."</p>
<p>"Won't they want something in return for helping us?" Julia asks from the couch. She already took her own inquisitive look down the stairway and was shooed off by Penny, and now both he and Kady are hovering beside her like they're still anticipating a second try - though Kady is a little more nonchalant about it, perched on the arm of the couch.</p>
<p>"Not like Marina did," she assures Julia. "The promise of a nonspecific favour owed does it for most wolves."</p>
<p>"And I know for a fact that a few of these ones don't get out much," Margo sniffs. "The thrill of the hunt should be reward enough."</p>
<p>Quentin peeks over his shoulder, frowning. "But if they know we're desperate—"</p>
<p>"We're not." Margo presses a pair of shoes into his hands and prods him in the ribs until he shuffles over to the couch. "We'd just rather have more help if we can get it. A few extra claws never hurt anybody."</p>
<p>"Except the Beast," Penny adds. "Hopefully."</p>
<p>Quentin sits next to Julia and sets his shoes down on the floor, furrowing his brow at them instead of putting them on. "So why are <i>we</i> assigned to, like, gemstone recon?"</p>
<p>He and Julia have been grumbling about this from the moment Kady told them they'd be tagging along with her and Penny for the day, scoping out jewelry stores in Manhattan instead of attending the meeting downstairs. Quentin can't imagine the two of them are very happy about missing it either, but just because they're not going to complain doesn't mean he and Julia can't.</p>
<p>"I thought you didn't want us out in the open," he points out, maybe a little more snarky than he needs to be, but Margo barely bats an eye.</p>
<p>"Well, something tells me the Beast won't be wandering around Midtown in the middle of the day," she says dryly, and smiles when Quentin pouts. Hands on her hips, she comes to stand in front of the couch, looking between him and Julia. "Listen, the personal touch worked for Marina, but these guys downstairs already know what happened to you."</p>
<p>"Not at the warehouse," Julia reminds her, eyes flitting to Quentin's shoulder and back up again. "Not the details."</p>
<p>Margo raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, and I wanna keep it that way."</p>
<p>Julia lowers her gaze with a huff, and Margo softens a little, reaching out to brush her hair back. "You don't need to worry about this, alright? Just focus on the precious gem situation. We won't be hunting anything if we don't get the spell off the ground." She takes a moment to pat Quentin's cheek too, then turns away to head down to the bar.</p>
<p>Quentin frowns as he watches her go. There isn't much noise echoing up the stairway like there is when Haven is open normally, and he can't really smell much either, but just knowing there are wolves waiting below makes their presence impossible to ignore. He can feel Margo wading through them as she crosses the bar, and Alice and Josh are down there too, and Eliot - though he's a completely different sort of unignorable.</p>
<p>It's not that they haven't talked since the night of the coven meeting, because they have, or even that Eliot's mood has been unreadable, because it hasn't. His presence is right where it always is, and he's been as friendly to Quentin as if their conversation on the balcony never happened. Quentin still isn't sure how exactly to get back to normal, whatever that means, but Eliot seems determined to do his part, so Quentin is trying his best too - at least for now, while he's still uncertain if he's overthinking things or not. The buildup to the meeting downstairs hasn't left him much time for contemplation.</p>
<p>Even Eliot has been preoccupied - right now, Quentin can feel him giving off the same animated anticipation that normally comes through when Haven is full, but it's more tense than usual, almost more anxiety-shaped. Although that could just be Quentin projecting.</p>
<p>He blinks a few times in a sort of mental throat-clearing and reaches out tentatively. <i>Everything okay? Has it started yet?</i></p>
<p>Eliot's response isn't immediate, but it comes through like a sigh, the tension loosening just a little. <i>Not quite yet. We don't have a full house, but it's enough of an audience for what we need.</i></p>
<p><i>Anyone I know?</i> Quentin can't help asking, halfheartedly nudging his toes into one shoe. While he's sort of nervous about the whole idea in general, he has to admit he's more than a little intrigued by Margo's board of most-trusted allies. If he wasn't right next to Julia, he would take the time to try and focus enough to get their two current rooms to overlap, but he's still not entirely sure how to make that work again.</p>
<p><i>A few,</i> Eliot hums back. <i>Idri's here, obviously, and some regulars, like Fogg and his pack. I don't think you met Agate at Council, but trust me when I say one glance at her has Todd looking ready to shit his pants.</i></p>
<p>Quentin muffles a snort. <i>Todd was invited?</i></p>
<p>He can feel the restrained wave of exasperation as Eliot rolls his eyes. <i>Unfortunately.</i> It dissipates quickly as Eliot's attention drifts, and a brief rise of nervous energy works through him before he seems to settle - Quentin can imagine him taking a breath, straightening up, letting his usual halfway-to-teasing smile spread over his face. <i>Bambi's about to give her opening address. You'll get the debrief later.</i></p>
<p>Pushing down a spike of his own anxiety, Quentin hopes Eliot can feel his eager interest - though it quickly turns to indignation when Eliot's voice slips into his thoughts one more time, almost stern for the brief second it echoes there. <i>Stay upstairs.</i></p>
<p>Quentin frowns again, but Penny is already glancing over at him, probably having heard the whole thing - or Quentin's side of it, at the very least. Either way, trying to argue with Eliot will only make Penny keep a closer watch, so Quentin does his best to swallow his irritation while he shoves his heels into his shoes.</p>
<p>Julia is still barefoot though, too busy bickering with Kady about what footwear would be best for walking around in, and which boots belong to whom, and whether or not there's a pair of flats lost somewhere in Penny's closet— Quentin decides to wait outside while the three of them figure it out, slipping quietly out the balcony door and descending the wooden steps to the courtyard.</p>
<p>The sun is high and the back windows of Haven are dark, but even when he peeks inside, Quentin doesn't see anyone in the booths. The gathering of wolves must be happening on the other side of the bar, around the corner he can't see past from the back door. He can still sense them though, his packmates and their unfamiliar guests, less of an imagined presence now that's he's closer. Inching toward the door, Quentin reaches out for the handle and turns it slowly, surprised to find it unlocked.</p>
<p>Before he can pull it open, Penny appears at his side, grabbing his wrist. "Don't even think about it," he warns, giving Quentin a hard look.</p>
<p>Quentin quickly tries to cover his shock with a glare. "I wasn't."</p>
<p>"I can literally <i>hear</i> you thinking about it," Penny scoffs. "Let it go, we're out of here."</p>
<p>With a sigh, Quentin loosens his grip on the handle just enough for Penny to drop his hand. "But you can hear what they're saying in there too, right?" he tries.</p>
<p>Penny's eyes linger on the door for a second before he shakes his head. "Only Margo, not the others. But it doesn't matter, we're leaving."</p>
<p>"Come on," Quentin presses, meeting his impatient look with a pout. "I just want to know what's happening. Aren't you curious about the other packs? Who we're going to be hunting with?"</p>
<p>It takes a long moment of scowling as his gaze darts between Quentin and the dark windows, but eventually Penny rolls his eyes with a huff. "Fine, whatever."</p>
<p>Quentin tries not to grin even as Penny pushes him out of the way to turn the handle himself. He opens the door silently, just far enough to slip inside with Quentin right behind him.</p>
<p>It's cool and quiet once they're out of the sun, but the wall of new wolf scents hits Quentin immediately. As Penny leads the way past the booths to the edge of the room, he can hear Margo speaking around the corner.</p>
<p>"The coven will give us his location," she's explaining, her voice carrying through the whole bar. "He won't know we're coming. We can get the drop on him and end this before he even knows he's been got."</p>
<p>She's leaning back against the bar counter when Quentin finally gets a glimpse of her, he and Penny still keeping to the edges on their way around to the front. Eliot is next to her, with Alice and Josh a little further off, and grouped up at and around the tables across from them are at least twenty other wolves. Quentin spots Idri right away - no furs this time either, probably for the best - and he can sense a couple other alphas in the mix, another Black man he's pretty sure is Fogg, and a sharp eyed woman who must be Agate, wearing something that may or may not be a crown.</p>
<p>He can't pick out anything specific about the rest of the unfamiliar wolves, just that some with similar scents are probably packmates. Unlike the crowd of witches, constantly murmuring to each other, the wolves are all silent, listening attentively to Margo - or, he supposes, they could just be keeping their comments shared between their bonds. He's not really sure if that's better or worse than being able to hear them. At least no one seems to notice him and Penny sneaking closer, probably distracted by the same cloud of mixed scent and presence that Quentin felt from across the room.</p>
<p>"If that sounds good to you, spend the new moon resting up," Margo goes on, coolly surveying her audience. "The hunt starts at dawn." She pauses there, maybe for effect more than anything, before crossing her arms. "Any questions?"</p>
<p>At one of the center tables, Fogg folds his hands with a short sigh, though what Quentin can see of his face behind his dark glasses remains stoic. "Can we trust the coven to uphold their end of the bargain?" he asks.</p>
<p>Margo nods easily, like she was waiting for this to come up. "They gave me their word, and I'm giving you mine," she says, glancing around expectantly. "I'm assuming that's enough for all of you."</p>
<p>Nobody disagrees, but on the other end of Fogg's table, Todd raises a tentative hand. "How did you even get them on our side?" he asks, sounding both nervous and a little reverent. "Aren't they usually, uh, kind of... unfriendly?"</p>
<p>Some of the other wolves around him nod, looking equal parts uncomfortable at the thought and relieved that someone else brought it up. Margo sweeps her eyes across them, clearly unimpressed.</p>
<p>"That's not something you need to worry about," she says wryly. "Just know that we're handling all the negotiating and the spellwork, so you scaredy-cats don't have to."</p>
<p>Quentin can't help smiling a little at how quickly Todd puts his hand down. Almost immediately he catches on to a flicker of confusion that isn't his, and realizes a second too late that he's given himself away. He glances up to the bar again and finds Eliot staring at him, startled at first, and then a little annoyed before he smooths his expression out again. Quentin can plainly feel his exasperation through the bond though, and tries to look sheepish at being caught - but he nearly walks into a table before Penny tugs him back a step, and he's pretty sure he detects a tiny spark of amusement as Eliot rolls his eyes and beckons them over.</p>
<p>He ignores the string of grumbling thoughts Penny sends his way as they sidle around the side of the bar to join the others. Some of the wolves on the edge of the group turn to stare at them briefly when they pass - including Alice and Josh as Penny stops beside them, still glaring daggers at Quentin - but even as Quentin shuffles guiltily to Eliot's side, Margo doesn't look away from the next wolf to speak up.</p>
<p>"Are we not giving this wolf a chance to strike by putting off our advance until after the new moon?" Agate asks, her gaze severe but not exactly unkind. Even without being the focus of it, Quentin thinks he understands why Todd was intimidated earlier. "Waiting any longer than necessary to handle this threat is a needless risk."</p>
<p>"He hasn't shown up yet," Margo points out. "He's biding his time too, waiting for an opening. He was reckless before, and it nearly cost him. This time, with all of us, we'll catch him with his dick in his hand and he won't stand a chance."</p>
<p>One table over, Idri raises an eyebrow. "Will the element of surprise be enough?"</p>
<p>"Worked for us last time," Margo says easily, glancing between the alphas. "And there's strength in numbers. That's why you're invited."</p>
<p>"I understand that," Fogg sighs, his glasses glinting as he bows his head. "And I understand why you're seeking our help, especially since your pack is already familiar to this wolf. But because of that, I hesitate to give my word as easily as you do." Quentin feels his stomach sink as Fogg looks back up at Margo, his face impassive. "To be direct— this is your problem, not ours."</p>
<p>Again, the wolves around him look almost relieved that someone else has voiced the opinion - maybe not all of them, but enough that the pit in Quentin's stomach quickly fills with disappointment. He figured that Pete wasn't the only wolf who would rather stay out of the way than try to help them, but these are <i>alphas</i>, the ones they're supposed to be able to trust, their closest allies. If they aren't willing to help, who else is there to turn to?</p>
<p>Eliot shifts beside him, either feeling Quentin's dismay or just as uneasy himself. It's not especially reassuring, but Quentin doesn't think he wants Eliot to try and soothe him, either. Not until he knows for sure how much hope he should be hanging onto.</p>
<p>Margo, to her credit, looks more annoyed than anything. "Just because my pack got involved first does <i>not</i> mean it's not your problem," she says, raising a disdainful finger to gesture with. "There's nothing keeping the Beast from picking any of you off if he gets bored. You know what happened to the witches."</p>
<p>"And you've said that he shifted focus back to the two escapees immediately afterwards," Fogg points out. Quentin can't see his eyes, but he's sure the alpha's gaze lingers on him for a moment. "It seems to me his priorities are clear."</p>
<p>"So are mine," Margo shoots back. "Namely, not letting anybody else get torn to shreds, in my pack or any of yours." She doesn't quite glare around the room, but it's a close thing. "If you've got a different ideal outcome, now's the time to say so."</p>
<p>Most of the wolves avoid her eye, but Agate looks back almost thoughtfully - then abruptly shifts her stare onto Quentin, too quick for him to see it coming and drop his gaze.</p>
<p>"You are the wolf he's hunting?" she asks. She sounds more curious than accusatory, at least, but then the entire room seems to turn to stare at him as well. When Quentin glances at Margo for help, she only nods for him to answer.</p>
<p>After a second of floundering, he manages to. "Uh— one of them, yeah."</p>
<p>Agate regards him carefully, like she's seeing past him, or maybe just trying to make him nervous. "Why do you think the Beast has fixated on you?" she asks eventually. "You're not an alpha, nor a particularly powerful wolf to add to his reckoning."</p>
<p>Quentin shoves down a swell of embarrassment, willing himself to hold her gaze even as he feels a flush creeping up his neck. It's not like she's speaking anything but the truth, after all. "I don't know, I think— maybe we surprised him," he manages, only half-mumbling. "Nobody's ever gotten away before, so… maybe we hurt his pride, or something."</p>
<p>"You think he's humiliated?" Idri asks, politely holding back a scoff. "You've hardly been gloating."</p>
<p>Quentin swallows hard against the memory of copper on his tongue, of grass stained red and his own blood between his fingers. "There's not really much to brag about."</p>
<p>"Sure there is," Fogg says. "You survived."</p>
<p>His smile isn't exactly mocking, but the sight of it is agitating, like Quentin can sense he's going to sour the sentiment even before his expression turns pensive again. "Although," Fogg adds, almost musingly, "I suppose we've yet to see if that will last."</p>
<p>Quentin's chagrin abruptly flares into irritation, but Margo steps in before he can do anything about it. "Look, someone is gonna have to deal with this asshole eventually," she insists, crossing her arms again. "We're all here. We have a plan. We just need to commit." She gives each pack a grave look in turn. "We might not get another opportunity."</p>
<p>"I can think of one." A sneering voice Quentin recognizes with an entirely different spark of ire pipes up from the back of the room, and sure enough, Ess comes forward from behind Idri's table a second later. Quentin must have missed him on the way in, distracted either by the alphas or by the wash of unfamiliar scents - but honestly, he should've seen this coming as soon as Eliot told him Idri's pack was in attendance. </p>
<p>Ess looks just as smug and jeering as he did at Lunar Council, and he gives Quentin the same sort of unimpressed once-over as he did then. He's apparently either forgotten just how quickly he rolled over for Margo, or else he's confident enough that she won't try anything with other alphas watching - Quentin is pretty sure he'd be wrong about the latter if push came to shove, but for now, Margo only gives Ess a cold stare as he takes another casual step forward.</p>
<p>"If he's the one the Beast is after, why not use him to our advantage?" Ess suggests, looking around at the other wolves before raising his eyebrows at Quentin innocently. "You'd love a chance to help out, wouldn't you?"</p>
<p>Quentin clenches his jaw. He can sense Eliot going still beside him, his tension and resentment simmering together and lapping at Quentin through the bond, but he tries not to let it seep in. He knows Ess is just looking to taunt him, like last time. He can take that. "Depends," he says tightly.</p>
<p>Ess smirks like the script is playing out exactly how he wants. "Well, he's already got your scent, hasn't he? We can set a trap." He seems to relish having the other wolves' focus on him as he slowly advances on Quentin, almost playful, except for the mean glint in his eye. "You'll make good bait."</p>
<p>Quentin holds his gaze determinedly. "If that's what it takes, yeah, I'll do it."</p>
<p>A jolt of foreign panic suddenly twists in his stomach at the same time that Eliot's hand clamps around his upper arm, tugging him back half a step. "No, you won't," Eliot growls, more at Ess than at Quentin.</p>
<p>"That's not on the table," Margo agrees, voice hard. "The coven is already involved. We won't need a trap once the locator spell is cast. That <i>is</i> the trap."</p>
<p>But Ess doesn't seem to have heard her, or maybe he just doesn't care. "You know," he drawls, stepping a little closer to Quentin, "everyone keeps saying how dangerous the Beast is, how he tears people apart. But <i>you</i> keep managing to come away unscathed."</p>
<p>He looks genuinely curious for a moment, but sneers a second later. "What makes you so special?" he jeers. Quentin feels another sharp twist in his gut but ignores it, holding his ground even when Ess gets close enough to pounce, even when Eliot's grip tightens. "Why hasn't he ripped your throat out?"</p>
<p>"He tried," Quentin snaps. Knocking Eliot's hand away, he grabs the hem of his shirt and in one rough motion yanks it off over his head. The cool air hits his skin at the same time that every eye in the room catches on the jagged ring of scars. "He missed."</p>
<p>Ess's thrown expression is almost satisfying, but the frustration burning in Quentin's chest doesn't let him focus on it for long. He looks past him at the other wolves instead, at Idri, paused halfway out of his seat, and Agate, tight-lipped and on edge - but those and the rest of the shocked stares don't do much to appease his annoyance.</p>
<p>Underneath that, he can feel Eliot seething too, not panicked anymore, but not entirely angry, either. There's something else in it that presses at Quentin, something with a different sort of heat that's weirdly familiar— but Quentin doesn't let himself focus on it, reaching for the anger instead. He clenches his shirt in his fist and wills himself not to shiver, even as the discomfort of being the center of attention creeps up his spine.</p>
<p>"The only thing stopping the Beast from moving on to all of you is that I got lucky, twice," he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. "He won't just— stop, once he's done with me. We're all part of this. If you can't see that, no amount of luck is going to help you."</p>
<p>The other wolves remain silent, but Ess recovers enough to roll his eyes, scoffing at him again. "Well, the offer's still open," he says, stepping back with a shrug. "Just in case he misses a third time."</p>
<p>Quentin glares, hackles itching as his anger abruptly boils over and rises up his throat. Eliot catches his arm again before he can take much more than an aborted half-step towards Ess, pulling him back with both hands and a tighter grip. Ess still flinches though, and everyone else seems to finally snap out of their shocked stupor - though Quentin doesn't get to see or hear much of their reactions once Eliot starts dragging him bodily away from the bar. The feeling of so many eyes on his back rankles enough that Quentin doesn't bother resisting, and lets Eliot tow him around the corner and down the hall to the stairs.</p>
<p>He realizes halfway up that his fist is still clenched around his rumpled shirt, and frustration starts to give way to embarrassment. Maybe he should've tried harder to keep himself in check, made more of an effort not to rise to Ess's jeering. He got kind of alarmingly close to lunging at him - not only right in front of his whole pack, but also in the middle of what was supposed to be a friendly request for cooperation. He didn't even notice— christ, his <i>fangs</i> sliding out during the argument, the sting numbed by the rush of anger flooding through him. Quentin feels them sink back into his gums as Eliot tugs him up the final steps and finally lets go of his wrist.</p>
<p>He leaves Quentin by the top of the stairs and paces over to the hall, still seething, irritation coming off him in waves. Quentin isn't sure if Eliot is more upset at Ess or at him, honestly, and he's not ecstatic to find out— but as if he can feel Quentin wondering about it, Eliot takes a breath and whirls around to face him.</p>
<p>"Will you do me a favour?" he asks, his voice suspiciously light for the amount of ire Quentin can feel pressing at him. "Just, real quick— tell me what part of 'stay upstairs' you didn't understand."</p>
<p>Guilt starts to curl in Quentin's stomach, but he can't help being a little annoyed at the scolding. Eliot was right there beside him, he heard everything just as clearly as Quentin did. "I know you said—"</p>
<p>"I <i>said</i> we'd talk later," Eliot cuts him off, coming back to the stairs to berate him from up close. "We didn't want you in the room for this exact reason. We knew the others would pry."</p>
<p>"I was trying to get them to help us," Quentin insists, scowling.</p>
<p>"By showing off the bullseye on your back?" Eliot scrubs a hand over his face. "Jesus, Q, do you have <i>any</i> sense of self-preservation?"</p>
<p>That stings a little. Quentin tries not to wince, but Eliot must feel him recoil anyway - his brow furrows for a moment before Quentin quickly ducks his head to sort out his shirt. "I just— I want to make them understand," he grumbles, shoving his arms through. "Before the Beast comes after anyone else."</p>
<p>"Oh, really," Eliot scoffs, a fresh surge of anger flaring up. "What was all that about jumping aboard the Beast-bait train, then? I've gotta be honest, Q, it's one hell of a mixed signal."</p>
<p>Quentin scowls again, but he can't ignore the guilt twisting its way through his chest. "Yeah, well," he huffs, turning away, "Ess had a point." He pulls his shirt over his head and roughly tugs it down, avoiding Eliot's gaze. "Setting a trap would speed things up, and the Beast already said he's coming back for me, so... it makes sense."</p>
<p>Shaking his head, Eliot snorts a humourless laugh. "It really doesn't."</p>
<p>Quentin glares up at him, unsure whose frustration he's really feeling but latching on all the same. "You turned it down without even considering it."</p>
<p>Eliot gives him a hard look, then glances away. "I didn't have to, Quentin."</p>
<p>"Why not?" Quentin challenges, stepping far enough into his space that Eliot is forced to look back at him. "Why were you so quick to say no?"</p>
<p>"I can't let you—" Eliot seems to cut himself off on purpose, snapping his mouth shut as he glowers at Quentin for a long few seconds - long enough for the heat to leave his gaze, and for Quentin to notice, as Eliot's jaw unclenches, just how close they've ended up.</p>
<p>His own anger drains out of him, evaporating under Eliot's softening stare until all that's left is the vague sense that they've been here before. Phantom sparks tingle up the side of Quentin's neck, and he abruptly remembers how it felt to press up on his toes and catch Eliot's mouth. He wonders if Eliot is thinking about that too, if he's remembering Quentin's fingers curling in his sleeve— he must be, as his gaze turns tender, his lips parting again. Quentin starts to lean closer just in time for Eliot to take a shaky breath— and then a step back.</p>
<p>Quentin nearly follows him before he catches himself. The whole room seems precariously close to tilting as he watches Eliot swallow, feeling something tentative brushing at the edge of his mind. "Q," Eliot starts again, quieter, "I—"</p>
<p>Footsteps on the stairs interrupt him, and the moment cracks apart between them as Eliot looks away. Blinking almost dazedly, Quentin turns to find Josh, Alice, and Penny coming up from the bar. Josh is grinning even before he reaches the top step, and it only grows when he spots Quentin.</p>
<p>"Hey, great job in there," he laughs, spreading his hands like he's replaying the memory. "Super dramatic, incredible exit. Loved it."</p>
<p>"Uh," Quentin says, half his brain still caught on Eliot's presence next to him. "Thanks?"</p>
<p>Alice looks a little like she's holding back a smile, even while she's clearly trying to temper Josh's enthusiasm. "I don't think we can say the same for Margo, though. She kicked the rest of us out." She glances back down the stairwell with her brow furrowed. "It's just her and the alphas now."</p>
<p>Beside her, Penny gives the hall below his own sour look. "Poor bastards."</p>
<p>"Is that... good?" Quentin asks, glancing between the three of them. He had almost forgotten to be anxious about what sort of mess he'd left the gathering in. "Are they joining the hunt?"</p>
<p>"It's still up the air," Josh says, frowning over his shoulder as he and Alice head for the kitchen.</p>
<p>Penny turns to raise an eyebrow at Quentin. "With what you pulled, I don't think you wanna be around for the aftermath either way. We should get going, for real this time."</p>
<p>He glances over to the windows, and Quentin follows his gaze to where Kady and Julia are coming up the balcony stairs. When Julia catches his eye she looks exaggeratedly impatient at first, but as she surveys the scene inside her expression turns down into concern. Quentin looks away from her in time to watch Penny's gaze slide from him to Eliot and back again, strangely hesitant.</p>
<p>"Unless you're not coming with?" Penny asks slowly.</p>
<p>Quentin glances up at Eliot, still hovering a step away, and is suddenly extremely aware of his heart pounding - has it been doing that this whole time? Eliot is looking back at Penny, or maybe at the stairs, but Quentin is sure that single step is all it would take to get him to turn his head. He's still close enough to touch, really, to be drawn back to where they were before the others showed up, to fill in the rest of whatever he was about to say— but Quentin has barely lifted a hand to reach out when Eliot seems to almost startle, and takes another step back.</p>
<p>"No," he says tightly, anger flaring again across the gap between them. It rushes in to fill the space so abruptly that Quentin flinches back, but Eliot doesn't even glance at him. "No, you should go."</p>
<p>Quentin frowns, but his protests stick in his throat when something else falls through Eliot's chest and tumbles out into his own - regret, thick and unmistakable for a long, smothering second before he manages to breathe around it.</p>
<p>That and the wave of frustration he can feel Eliot trying to reel in have Quentin taking his own stumbling step back. Did he push too far? Why won't Eliot look at him? He has to swallow hard before he can get his voice to work again. "Okay," he says weakly, then clears his throat and tries for something stronger as he turns away to look at Penny instead. "That's… yeah, let's— let's go."</p>
<p>If Penny is confused about any of it, he thankfully doesn't say so. Quentin follows him outside, lets him explain to Julia and Kady what happened at the meeting, even manages a halfhearted sheepish grin when Julia asks him why he's so determined to get in a fistfight. He tries very hard to ignore the urge to look back as they descend the stairs into the courtyard, but Eliot's simmering irritation has faded to an uncomfortable haze by the time they're heading through the creaking gate.</p>
<p>Quentin can't pick out the regret anymore either, but his chest still hurts from the way its edges scraped their way through him. He wonders if it felt that way to Eliot too— and then decides to not think about that anymore.</p>
<p>Gemstone reconnaissance doesn't entail much beyond the long train ride into Manhattan and then a meandering walk down a not-quite crowded street lined with jewelry stores. It's a little exciting, being in this part of the city, with much taller buildings and way more tourists, and Quentin tries to focus on that - on all the bright lights and people, and on having nearly every sense stimulated at once so his mind doesn't even have a chance to wander.</p>
<p>And it's— nice, being there with Julia. It's nice to watch her walk in front of him with her arm hooked through Penny's, or Kady's, or both. It's nice when she hangs back to let him catch up, or points out nearby landmarks while they wait for the other two outside each diamond exchange and lapidary. It's less nice when he can feel her concerned stare while his back is turned, but he does his best to ignore that.</p>
<p>There's nothing for her to be concerned about, anyway. Everything earlier was just— Quentin fucking up, <i>again</i>, nothing new. It's still fine between him and Eliot - or he hopes it is, at least. He's never felt regret from Eliot before, not like that.</p>
<p>He has to remind himself more than once that he's trying not to think about it, but it's hard when he keeps coming back to what came right before it, the soft look in Eliot's eyes, how close he was for just a moment… </p>
<p>Quentin shakes himself out of the memory when Kady and Penny come out through the tall glass doors of their most recent stop. It has less flashing neon than the previous jeweler, but even just glancing in the windows made him feel underdressed.</p>
<p>"My face hurts from pretending to laugh at that clerk's jokes," Penny gripes, dragging the hand that isn't holding Kady's over his face. "At the next one, Julia and Quentin can play the about-to-be newlyweds."</p>
<p>"Is pretending to shop for rings really the best way to do this?" Quentin asks, frowning as they start down the street again. "I mean, I don't know how many carats Marina is going for, but there's, like, diamond dealers that exist, right?"</p>
<p>"There's also some really gaudy engagement rings out there," Julia points out, peeking through the next shop's window.</p>
<p>"And some poor saps willing to pay for them," Penny agrees, still rubbing his jaw.</p>
<p>Kady snorts a laugh. "So maybe Quentin <i>should</i> go next. No offense," she adds, smirking at him when he pouts. She unwinds from Penny's grip and snakes her arm around Julia's shoulders instead, tugging her in to lean against her side. "Or we can go. It's easy, you just walk in and turn your nose up at everything until they bring out the really big ones."</p>
<p>Julia nods, playfully serious about the new mission, and lets Kady twine their fingers together as they approach the next storefront sign advertising sparkling jewels. She glances back over her shoulder before they reach the doors. "Hey, you two can hit up another store at the same time, if you want."</p>
<p>Quentin glances at Penny just long enough to catch his eye, and they both quickly look away. "We're good, actually."</p>
<p>He watches the girls snicker to each other as they pull open the front door and disappear inside. Penny seems to take great care not to look at him the entire time they're gone, which Quentin is just fine with. He doesn't really want Penny taking any closer of a listen to his thoughts than he's probably already had to.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>Several potential leads and another train ride later, it's late evening by the time the four of them arrive home. Haven is still open, but Quentin opts to head upstairs instead - not because Eliot is behind the bar, he assures himself, but because any number of wolves from the earlier gathering could still be around, and he doesn't love the idea of seeing any of them again unless he has to. And honestly, having some time by himself after being around strangers all day doesn't sound so bad, either.<p>Quentin plans to just curl up on the couch with a book and try to decompress, but he doesn't get to spend very long in his peaceful bubble before Julia comes up from the bar for one last attempt at coaxing him to join the rest of the pack downstairs. That's what Quentin suspects it is, anyway - she <i>says</i> she's only come because Josh and Penny started a betting pool about whether or not Idri will end up kicking Ess from his pack, and she's been given very specific directions to the exact part of Alice's desk where she keeps her notes on that sort of thing. She does get a wheedling sort of note in her voice toward the end though, when she just happens to mention how everyone else is waiting down at their table in the back of the bar, and how, just as a side note, they're all wondering where he is, even <i>Todd</i>, Q, I'm serious, even <i>Penny</i>.</p>
<p>Quentin appreciates the thought, even if he is pretty sure she's lying about that last part. But when Julia finally heads down the hall to Alice's room, he decides to slip away up to the attic before she gets back to avoid any further cajoling.</p>
<p>Once he's up in his room, he gets ready for bed more for a lack of something better to do than anything. He's not especially tired, even after all the ups and downs of the day, but curling up under the covers to read until he's drowsy enough to fall asleep sounds like an alright way to end it. It's a little warm for his flannel pajama pants, so he forgoes them and gets into bed in just a soft sleep shirt and almost-silky boxer briefs.</p>
<p>He's still sitting up, flipping through Alice's storybook for where he last left off when he nearly startles at a knock on his doorframe. It's not exactly a surprise to see Margo leaning there with her arms crossed, but Quentin didn't even feel her approaching. All the strange presences in the house today must have him more off-balance than he thought.</p>
<p>He was half-expecting something like this to happen eventually though, based on what Penny said before they left, and he supposes now is as good a time for a lecture as any. He puts the book down, clearing his throat and readying an apology while Margo regards him from the doorway, but she cuts him off as soon as he opens his mouth.</p>
<p>"Well, your scolding worked," she sighs, stepping into the room. "All those wolves who showed up today pledged to join the hunt after all."</p>
<p>Quentin blinks at her. "What— really?"</p>
<p>Margo shrugs a little, like it's no big deal. "We're not in a permanently-assembled Avengers situation, and they might all be minding exclusively their own business for a while afterwards, but they'll back us up for this." She smiles at him then, shaking her head. "Todd was especially enthusiastic about it, after you left. He's really gunning for a redemption arc. I think Fogg only agreed so he'd shut up."</p>
<p>She comes closer, uncrossing her arms to sit down on the edge of his bed with another short sigh. Quentin pulls his knees up under the covers, watching the side of her face with more than a little trepidation - if he's going to get chastised, now is definitely the time - but Margo's expression doesn't harden like he expects. Instead, she takes a breath and turns to him with something more like grudging fondness.</p>
<p>"Look— that was really stupid, what you did down there," she says, matter-of-fact. Quentin ducks his head sheepishly, or tries to, but Margo brushes his bangs aside and gets him to look up again. "But," she allows, more gently, "you're really good at making it hard to be mad at you."</p>
<p>Quentin can't help his mouth twisting. "I think Eliot still is, though." Not entirely for the same reasons, he knows, but still.</p>
<p>Margo seems surprised to hear it, however, and frowns perplexedly. "What? What did he do now?"</p>
<p>"Nothing, it's my fault," Quentin mumbles, wrapping his arms around his covered knees. "I'm the one who—"</p>
<p>"Quentin," Margo says over him, wry when he glances up. "He's not mad at you."</p>
<p>Quentin flounders for a moment, brow furrowed. "But— we— I think I'd <i>know</i>, I mean—"</p>
<p>"You remember what I said about Eliot not being great at seeing what's around him?" Margo asks dryly, eyebrows raised.</p>
<p>He does remember that, but he's not sure what it has to do with anything. Margo seems to be waiting for an answer though, so he nods a little confusedly. She puts her hand on his where it's tucked against his knee, stroking over his knuckles for a moment.</p>
<p>"Just... give him some time," she says softly, with a patient sort of smile. "He'll figure it out."</p>
<p>Quentin doesn't know what she really means, but he nods at that too, and Margo squeezes his fingers before she stands up.</p>
<p>She closes the door behind her when she leaves, and Quentin follows her presence all the way into the loft across the house, then closes his eyes to seek out the others through the bond. Haven must be closed by now if Margo is upstairs, and the rest of the pack seem to be slowly finding their way up to bed as well.</p>
<p>He can sense Julia in the kitchen with Alice, and both Josh and Kady already in their rooms. Penny spends a while one floor lower, maybe cleaning up the bar before making his way up to the kitchen, and then to Kady's room instead of coming up to his own across the hall from Quentin. Before long, both Alice and Julia head down the hall as well, Alice to her room and Julia joining Kady and Penny - which Quentin lets himself have a little smile about.</p>
<p>With Margo already in the loft, that only leaves Eliot, who Quentin feels finally come up from the bar after everyone else is settled for the night. Eliot's mood is still muddled, and has been since Quentin got home. He doesn't really expect it to change until tomorrow at the earliest, not when the foremost impression he can make out through the haze of it is still just— vague displeasure. Quentin opens his eyes to keep himself from prodding at it any further, and gets up to turn out the light.</p>
<p>Margo said to give Eliot time, which, while he's still not entirely sure the exact parameters of, Quentin thinks he can manage. He can probably just keep to himself while Eliot cools off, at least, and then they can just... pretend nothing happened, as usual. Maybe not ideal, but it's better than feeling that heavy, clinging regret again. Quentin's chest still hurts at the memory.</p>
<p>Still, when he lies down in bed to stare at the moonlight bending across the arched ceiling, it's hard not to think about what came before again. Stepping into Eliot's space, locking eyes, facing down his glare. Eliot breaking off mid-sentence, and then softening, letting him come closer. Lips parting, a breath across his mouth, a memory of how it would taste— Quentin <i>still</i> remembers that, and he can admit now that it's sort of pointless to pretend that he wanted anything other than for Eliot to kiss him again.</p>
<p>For a moment, he thought Eliot wanted that too, but maybe he was wrong - <i>again</i>, which means Quentin is way worse at reading him than he thought. There are some things he's sure of, though, some feelings he's positive he didn't misread. Maybe he can't be certain about the full moon anymore, but before that, there was still— a desire to be close to Eliot, to reach out and touch, to overlap again.</p>
<p>And beyond that, even before they bonded, there were moments - Eliot's curious look, his voice resounding in the quiet kitchen, his arm warm over Quentin's shoulders, watching the sun rise across his face… and if the bond is building on whatever was already there between them—</p>
<p><i>Quentin, for the love of god.</i> Eliot's voice suddenly pushes into his mind, annoyance prickling alongside it. <i>Why the hell are you still up?</i></p>
<p>With a panicky jolt, Quentin scrambles to clamp down on his current train of thought. Eliot can't tell what he's thinking, at least - but he still feels guilty, caught fantasizing about things like <i>that</i> when he's clearly fucked it up enough for Eliot to still be mad. <i>Sorry,</i> he sends back, grimacing internally, <i>I didn't think you were—</i></p>
<p><i>You're going to give one of us a headache,</i> Eliot cuts across him, breaking off the rest of Quentin's thought. <i>Turn your brain off and go to sleep.</i></p>
<p>Quentin tries not to let that sting. If only it were that easy, just flipping a switch to stop thinking. <i>I didn't mean to keep you awake,</i> he tries again, curling up on his side and hoping Eliot can't feel the hot shame crawling up his throat. <i>I'll be quiet. Sorry.</i></p>
<p>A second later, the annoyed feeling recedes as Eliot softens, seeming to sigh out the rest of his irritation with a twinge of remorse. <i>No, you don't need to apologize.</i> His voice is less sharp now, like he's trying to soothe where he pressed in before. <i>I just don't want you to be up all night worrying about— whatever you're worrying about.</i> Quentin is sure he doesn't want to be up all night himself either - without the anger, Eliot just seems tired.</p>
<p><i>Is this about the alphas' meeting?</i> Eliot prompts, and— well, part of it is, technically. Even if Quentin is more focused on what happened after, the memory of the other alphas staring at him does still bring up a flutter of anxiety. Eliot seems to take his hesitance as enough of an answer. <i>Margo told you how it went once you left, didn't she?</i></p>
<p>Quentin decides to take the excuse as offered. <i>Yeah, she came up earlier and said the hunt is on. But— I don't know.</i> He catches himself twisting his fingers in his bedsheets, and the fluttering feeling is slowly becoming a knot in his stomach - maybe he's actually more worried about this than he thought.</p>
<p><i>I still feel like I screwed up,</i> Quentin admits, curling up a little further. <i>What if they change their minds? Or what if the spell doesn't even work, and the hunt doesn't pan out, and this is all for nothing?</i></p>
<p><i>It definitely won't be for nothing,</i> Eliot assures him, his voice like a breath of laughter. <i>Ess's face when you told him to fuck off was priceless. It's been worth it just for that.</i></p>
<p>Quentin hides an unbidden smile in his pillow, the knot unwinding. <i>That's not what I said to him.</i></p>
<p><i>It's what you meant, though.</i> Eliot's amusement tingles in Quentin's chest, combatting his own embarrassment about the memory. He wonders how his mini-tantrum must have looked to the others - like, ripping his shirt off? God, what was he thinking? But as if the whole scene is replaying between them, something wells up beneath Eliot's delight in the same way it did before, underneath his not-quite-anger - that weird bit of heat, strangely familiar to Quentin in the way it presses at him.</p>
<p>Now, without the distraction of ire burning through him, he can recognize where he knows the sensation from - it feels a little like arousal, like the thick, dark heat he felt drop through Eliot on the full moon. It's somehow not as much of a shock as Quentin expects, connecting the dots. It just makes him... curious.</p>
<p><i>I guess it felt pretty good,</i> he admits, pushing it through the bond a little tentatively, just to make sure he's not imagining things— but there it is again, another flash of warmth that Eliot doesn't seem to notice he's giving off as he slips another laugh into Quentin's thoughts.</p>
<p><i>I'd give it some time before you dramatically disrobe again, to retain the effect,</i> he suggests, teasing now, but still with that heady edge. <i>Though I'll admit, as a brand, I love that for you.</i></p>
<p>He's joking, he doesn't mean that he actually wants Quentin to— undress more often, or whatever— but once Quentin has had that thought, it's tough to unthink it, and the almost-familiar simmer just under the surface of Eliot's playfulness doesn't help. Whether or not Eliot is aware of it, he's about to be, if the fleeting contact keeps up - Quentin can already feel something similar dripping down through him, pooling low in his stomach and rippling whenever Eliot's heat skims across him.</p>
<p>He remembers something like that from the full moon too, a heavy, sticky feeling spreading out from Eliot and into him. Then he feels curiosity prodding at him, and realizes a little too late that he's forgotten to respond.</p>
<p><i>Q?</i> Eliot's voice is softer again, not quite concerned, but definitely attentive. <i>What's on your mind?</i></p>
<p><i>Nothing,</i> Quentin pushes back, aiming for nonchalance and shooting right past it. He shouldn't even be thinking about all that when they're in the middle of a conversation - especially a telepathic one. But at the same time, he can't quite push it out of his mind when Eliot's presence is <i>right there</i>, unmistakably focused on him. Quentin can almost see the teasing smirk spreading across his face.</p>
<p>
  <i>You sure? You seem kind of wound up.</i>
</p>
<p>Of course Eliot can feel that. He can probably feel the blush burning in Quentin's cheeks and down his neck, too - maybe he can even feel the embarrassing heat still sliding its way down Quentin's spine to gather between his legs— but willing that away doesn't work either, and a second later his own mortified dread mixes with a flicker of surprise across the bond. <i>Oh.</i></p>
<p>Quentin curls up tightly, squeezing his eyes shut against the rush of shame. <i>Fuck, sorry— just, shut up for a second and I'll—</i></p>
<p><i>No, don't,</i> Eliot sends back. Curiosity paws at Quentin again, softer than he expects. <i>I want to feel it.</i></p>
<p>He isn't being— mean, or even teasing anymore. Instead, he seems... interested, like Quentin's arousal is intriguing him somehow. For a moment, Quentin pictures Eliot lying in bed, imagines everything he's feeling spreading through both of them at once, the pooling warmth and the slow throb beneath it…</p>
<p>But that doesn't help matters, especially not the way his cock is starting to stiffen. Quentin presses his legs together, face still burning - but something about Eliot's curious attention suddenly turns hotter, like he knows exactly what Quentin is thinking. </p>
<p>The simmering heat returns, no longer skimming the surface but settling in Eliot like he's stopped holding it back, and Quentin shivers as it settles in him, too. <i>Tell me what you're thinking about,</i> Eliot hums.</p>
<p>He's not an alpha, and it's hardly a command, but Quentin finds himself scrambling to answer anyway. <i>At the meeting, when Ess was— I felt you looking at me.</i> Usually he can keep his words from jumbling together at least until they're on their way out of his mouth, but under pressure - or maybe just with Eliot's attention so palpably concentrated on him - it's hard to string any thought together, let alone a full sentence. <i>I could tell you were— like on the full moon, before we went upstairs—</i></p>
<p><i>Only before?</i> Eliot asks, voice low like a breath in his ear, yet somehow both closer and more distant than that. <i>I remember more about after.</i></p>
<p>Quentin remembers that part, too. Being pressed so close together, the expanse of Eliot's skin under his hands, feeling him getting hard - Quentin's dick throbs at the thought and he rolls onto his back again, embarrassingly close to panting as he slips one hand down under his sheets. He's suddenly glad he decided to skip pajama pants, one less layer to deal with as he palms himself through his underwear.</p>
<p>He's not even fully hard himself yet, but from the way all the blood in his brain seems to be rushing down between his legs, he's sure it won't take long - especially when he thinks of the way Eliot had rocked into him, grinding Quentin against his cock, and feels an almost answering throb that extends beyond his own touch. He wonders if maybe Eliot is touching himself too, lying back in his own bed one floor below and imagining Quentin doing the same.</p>
<p><i>You're really stuck on that night, huh,</i> Eliot's voice slips in again, still a low murmur. <i>I've been thinking about it too, what you looked like in my lap, and all those </i>sounds<i> you made, rutting against me like you couldn't get enough—</i> He breaks off for a moment, and Quentin feels another curious press through the bond, heavy with want. <i>I bet you're squirming like that right now, aren't you?</i></p>
<p>Another rush of heat floods through Quentin's whole body, his hips jerking up as he presses the heel of his hand between his legs again, biting back a whine. For a moment his vision blurs and the room changes - the window on the opposite side, the arched ceiling flattened white, the bed wider— Eliot's bed, Quentin realizes, in Eliot's room, and it's Eliot's soft sheets he can feel sliding against his heels when he bucks up into his palm.</p>
<p>It's almost a relief to feel the overlap, to have things blur between them again, and Eliot feels so close, it's almost like it's <i>his</i> hand that Quentin is pressing into— but it's not enough.</p>
<p>"Eliot," he pants to the open air of his room before remembering that they're not actually in the same space. Quentin swallows hard and closes his eyes to reach out again. <i>Will you come upstairs?</i></p>
<p>He senses Eliot's moment of doubt almost before it reaches him, but shoves stubbornly past it. <i>Please, El, I'm— I need you.</i></p>
<p>He feels the exact moment Eliot gives in, his uncertainty abruptly overtaken by something dark and hot that slides down through Quentin like a shiver. <i>Okay,</i> Eliot sends back, not quite unsteady, but close enough for Quentin to notice. <i>I'm on my way. Don't move.</i></p>
<p>Quentin really does make an effort to stay still and wait, tracking Eliot's presence out of his room and down the hall to the stairs, but even just that short distance seems to take an excruciatingly long time. It's hard work to untangle himself from his sheets when he's near trembling with want though, so by the time Quentin gets shakily to his feet, he can feel Eliot at the top of the stairs. He crosses his room to the door, but it opens before he can touch it, and then Eliot is there in front of him - a little disheveled, but bright-eyed and flushed, wearing silk sleep pants and a robe, and finally, <i>finally</i> looking back at him— and when Quentin reaches for him, Eliot comes willingly.</p>
<p>He kicks the door shut as he lets Quentin tug him into the room with two fistfuls of his robe. Quentin immediately pushes up to kiss him, barely aware of anything else for a few blissful seconds of closeness before he remembers what had happened the last time he thought about kissing Eliot— maybe this is a little much.</p>
<p>He quickly breaks away, lips tingling even as shame stings in his throat. "Sorry—"</p>
<p>But he barely gets the word out before Eliot catches his mouth again, warm and wet and insistent. He slides his hands down to Quentin's waist to pull him in closer, his touch bringing a relief Quentin doesn't realize he was waiting for until it's washing over him. He presses himself as close to flush against Eliot as he can manage, clinging to him, reveling in the slow drag of Eliot's palm across his stomach as his shirt is pushed up.</p>
<p>The hot swell of Eliot's cock nudging against his hip makes his stomach flutter, heat sparking in both of them - but the contact only lasts a second before Quentin's calves hit the edge of the mattress and he nearly topples backwards. With Eliot's tongue in his mouth, he somehow didn't notice he was being walked back to the bed.</p>
<p>Eliot breaks away with a huff of laughter at the deathgrip Quentin suddenly has on his robe and gently pries his hands away, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Relax, Q. I'm not going anywhere."</p>
<p>Looking up at him sends another spark of heat down into Quentin's belly, and Eliot's position hovering over him puts the bulge of his cock tenting his silk pants at about eye level. Despite having the length of it pressed against him on what's now two separate occasions, Quentin somehow never got the full picture of how big it actually is - and arguably, even now, he can't be sure while it's still covered.</p>
<p>He catches himself staring and tries to quickly drag his gaze back up to Eliot's face, but of course Eliot has already noticed. A teasing grin spreads across his face as one hand slides down to the thin silk bow tied at the waist of his pants. "I don't have quite the temperament for a strip-tease," he sighs, even as he tugs it out tantalizingly slow. "Not like you do."</p>
<p>Quentin is distracted from pouting at him when Eliot abruptly slides his waistband down. His chosen sleep attire apparently doesn't include underwear, so Quentin's eyes travel down through the dark hair under his navel right to his cock, bobbing as Eliot steps out of his pants to come closer. Saliva suddenly pools under Quentin's tongue. He didn't really form a full plan when he begged Eliot to come up here, but now, getting Eliot's dick in his mouth seems pretty important.</p>
<p>Still, there's, like, etiquette about these things, right? And maybe Eliot actually <i>does</i> have a plan, so Quentin makes himself look away from the wet, pink head of his cock and back up to his face.</p>
<p>Eliot is still gazing down at him, but his teasing look has turned a little darker, a little hotter. "I've gotten a few different reactions, but I don't think I've ever rendered anyone fully speechless before," he hums, lips quirking.</p>
<p>Quentin swallows hard. "Can I blow you?"</p>
<p>He feels the jolt of arousal as it spikes through Eliot, a spark just behind his navel, but he holds Eliot's surprised gaze for the second before it turns hot again. "That's what you want?" Eliot asks, low and breathy.</p>
<p>Quentin can't nod fast enough, already reaching out to slide his fingers down the shaft. It's thick and hot in his hand, and imagining the weight of it on his tongue makes him shiver - or maybe that's Eliot reacting to his touch, groaning quietly above him. Either way, Quentin's mouth is watering, and he ducks forward to lap at the head, nudging the tip against the bow of his lips.</p>
<p>Eliot lets out a breath and settles one hand on Quentin's shoulder to steady himself. "Fuck, you're really—  <i>god,</i> Q." He slides his other hand into Quentin's hair, sending another spike of heat down to the base of his spine. "Okay, yeah, you can— just— tell me if it's too much."</p>
<p>"Uh-huh," Quentin breathes, only half-listening, and closes his lips around Eliot's cock.</p>
<p>It's been a while since he last sucked anybody off, and it's not like he was ever doing it enough to really have a technique, or whatever - but Quentin finds a rhythm easily enough, sliding his mouth down and then slowly dragging off, tonguing over the head and then drawing him in again, wet and hot and as deep as he can manage.</p>
<p>It's a bit much to fit in his mouth all at once, but Quentin thinks he probably could, with practice - just relax his throat and let Eliot slide all the way in, feeling every twitch and pulse against his tongue. As it is, he can feel Eliot struggling not to thrust into his mouth, the effort of keeping still winding tight in his core. There's a tremble in his thighs, and his hand isn't quite tugging Quentin's hair, but his grip tightens when Quentin sucks hard on the head of his cock, or runs his tongue along the underside.</p>
<p>"Fuck, Q," Eliot huffs out, halfway between a moan and a sigh. "You're so <i>good</i>, baby, just like that."</p>
<p>Quentin can't help humming a little at the praise. Figuring out exactly what Eliot likes isn't difficult when he can feel what sends the brightest sparks shooting up his spine. He's concentrating so hard on Eliot's pleasure that he doesn't really notice how it's pressing into him, how it's becoming <i>his</i>. There's a throb low in his stomach, a groan scraping out of his throat, he's jerking forward into the wet warmth of his own mouth—</p>
<p>Eliot pulls out then, gasping, and Quentin takes a breath he didn't really notice he needed. There's a strand of saliva between his lips and the wet tip of Eliot's cock, but the hand in his hair stops him from ducking down again. When he drags his eyes up, Eliot looks— <i>flustered,</i> his robe almost hanging off one shoulder, panting as he gazes down at Quentin with his face flushed - because of <i>him</i>, Quentin realizes with another wash of heat. </p>
<p>He feels the warmth spread through Eliot as well, and watches his throat bob as he swallows. "You alright?" Eliot asks, loosening his grip a little.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Quentin manages between breaths. His voice is a bit rough, but that makes him feel warm, too. "I'm good, that was— a lot, but not, like— too much."</p>
<p>Eliot smiles at him after a moment, and lets go of Quentin's hair and lean down and kiss him, the hand on his shoulder sliding down his chest. Quentin wonders if Eliot can taste himself on his tongue, or if he already could while Quentin's mouth was on him— but then Eliot's hands are under his shirt, and he's pulling back to lift it off.</p>
<p>Quentin only just remembers to raise his arms in time to not get stuck. It's a good thing it came off smoothly in front of the alphas earlier - it really would've ruined the effect if he'd immediately walked into a wall while he was trying to strip dramatically, or whatever Eliot called it - but Quentin loses that train of thought when Eliot pushes him down into the sheets and then straightens up to slip his robe off his shoulders.</p>
<p>He doesn't quite feel the slide of fabric on his own skin, but he's sort of dizzy from everything else, and hasn't quite caught his breath yet, either. Still, he manages to get up on his elbows and wriggle his way up the bed so he's not hanging halfway off the mattress, then pauses to watch Eliot climb on top of him.</p>
<p>He manages to make it look kind of absurdly graceful, considering how hard his cock is. Quentin can see that it's still wet from his mouth, shiny at the tip, sticky with spit and precome all the way down to the base. Still dizzy, he can't help wondering, if Eliot had come in his mouth, if he would've seen his knot - but then again, maybe it only inflates when Eliot is, like, <i>inside</i> someone.</p>
<p>Quentin feels heat drop low in his stomach imagining how that would feel, Eliot's cock <i>hilted</i> in him— but if he's honest with himself, he doesn't think either of them have the patience to figure that out just now. He's so keyed up, he's sure he could come just from how Eliot is trailing his hand down his chest.</p>
<p>He manages not to, and comes back to his own body a bit more as Eliot's warm palm leaves sparks all the way down to where Quentin's dick is wet and aching. He lets Eliot tug his underwear down and off, then watches him settle between his legs, trying to ignore the slow drag of Eliot's eyes over his cock.</p>
<p>"Are you always this hard after having something in your mouth?" Eliot asks, his innocent tone betrayed by his smirk.</p>
<p>It's hot and embarrassing at the same time, and Quentin is still floundering for an answer when Eliot gets his hand around his shaft and shocks a startled whimper out of him. "Oh, Q, baby," Eliot coos, half a breathy laugh, "is this what you were waiting for? All night you were up here, thinking about me getting you off?"</p>
<p>"El," Quentin whines, the teasing making his dick throb at the same time a flush spreads down his neck. He tries to push himself up off his elbows to shut him up with a kiss, but Eliot holds him down with hand across his sternum, pressing just firmly enough to get him flat on his back while still letting him squirm a little - and all the while, his other hand keeps stroking Quentin's cock, swiping his thumb through the precome dribbling from the tip.</p>
<p>"You're so wet," he hums, still smirking.</p>
<p>Quentin's cheeks are still hot, but he manages to frown. "It's your fault," he tries to grumble, but it comes out more like a strained gasp as he clenches his fists in the sheets. "You're, like— talking."</p>
<p>Eliot raises his eyebrows, a slow smile spreading on his face like Quentin has revealed something unexpectedly delightful. "I will <i>happily</i> accept that blame."</p>
<p>Huffing, Quentin tries to hide his burning face against the sheets, but Eliot laughs and ducks down to kiss the side of his mouth. "Hey, come on. It's hot, Q. I like it." Quentin squirms again as another prickle of heat makes his cock throb in Eliot's fist. "You want me to keep talking?"</p>
<p>"Um," Quentin manages, dizziness returning as Eliot starts to trail his lips down over his jaw. "Yeah, please?"</p>
<p>Eliot makes a pleased hum against his throat. "I like that, too. When you beg." He gives Quentin's dick a long, tantalizingly slow stroke. "What did you say earlier, before I came up?"</p>
<p>Quentin bites back a whimper, trying unsuccessfully to cant his hips up and press further into Eliot's hand. "I need you," he pants. He feels Eliot's cock twitch, a jolt low in his stomach. His own cock pulses at the same time, getting even wetter, dripping over Eliot's fingers. "Eliot, I'm—"</p>
<p>"I know, baby," Eliot soothes, pulling back to hover over him. Quentin watches his eyes trail down the path his mouth just made, and then over, moving his hand up from Quentin's heaving chest to his collarbone.</p>
<p>The sensitive skin sparks as soon as Eliot brushes across it, stroking along the curve of scars. Quentin starts to squirm again, but a sudden swell of protectiveness across the bond nearly startles him. Eliot notices him freeze and glances up, the feeling wavering like he's considering pushing it away, but after a moment he takes a breath instead.</p>
<p>"You know why I dragged you out of the alphas' meeting?" he asks, with another long, slow pull on Quentin's cock.</p>
<p>Quentin swallows a whine, trying to gather enough of his brain to answer. "Because Ess was being an asshole?" Eliot's lips quirk, but his hand doesn't speed up. Quentin does his best to ignore the slide of his fingers and casts back in his memory for what exactly Eliot said to him that morning. "O-or, because I was supposed to stay upstairs?"</p>
<p>"That was part of it," Eliot allows, rubbing approvingly over the head of his dick, "but not the reason I acted on." He goes back to slow strokes a second later, and Quentin shivers, twisting his fingers in the sheets and trying not to writhe.</p>
<p>Eliot's other hand isn't really holding him down anymore, and part of him wants to push up and climb into his lap, make Eliot touch him <i>properly—</i> but another part of him, equally if not more aroused, is curious about the gentle press over his scars. He can still feel the heat simmering in Eliot, and knows the throb between his legs isn't just his own.</p>
<p>With some effort, Quentin unclenches one hand from the sheets and slides it over Eliot's wrist. "So what was?" he asks, only panting a little.</p>
<p>"I didn't want them to see this," Eliot murmurs. Another slow stroke along Quentin's aching cock, another feather light touch across the jagged teeth marks - both making Quentin nearly tremble. "The alphas, the other packs, any of them. I couldn't stand it. I wanted—"</p>
<p>He cuts off as heat flares up between them, but Quentin isn't sure which of them it's coming from. He feels pinned down again, not just by Eliot's hand but by his words, by the edge of a growl in his voice - and when his eyes lock on Quentin's again, they're yellow in the moonlight. "I want to be the only one."</p>
<p>"You are," Quentin promises, breathing it out. "The others— they don't know what it felt like. But you do." He pulls at Eliot's wrist until he can slide their fingers together, his heart hammering underneath. "You felt it with me."</p>
<p>He feels a fresh wave of thick want drop through Eliot, his whole body seeming to sway closer as he pitches down to catch Quentin's mouth with more teeth than anything.</p>
<p>"God, Q," Eliot pants against his lips, then gets a hand under Quentin's knee to tug him closer, climbing over him again— and then his cock is sliding against Quentin's, and Quentin jerks his hips up into the touch at the same time Eliot grinds down on him. One of Eliot's hands ends up around both of them, stroking loosely, but most of the friction is from Eliot rocking against him, and from Quentin pushing up into each thrust. </p>
<p>Eliot lifts his other hand, fingers still laced with Quentin's, and braces it in the sheets above them, pinning Quentin's hand under his own. The tight press of their palms makes Quentin wonder if the scars they don't have anymore would've been matched up— but the slide of their cocks together is quickly pushing out all other thoughts, and Eliot's next sharp thrust has Quentin keening into his mouth.</p>
<p>He's losing track of the line between them, every movement blurring them further until Quentin isn't sure who's moving against who, whose fingers are digging into the sheets and whose are slippery with sweat and precome between them - even whose lips he's gasping against. Everything is overlaid with sweet-sharp pleasure as it builds within the overlap, rising like a wave, past the point he expects it to break over them. Quentin squeezes his eyes shut hard enough to see stars— but no, there's something else glowing behind his eyelids, something brighter than that—</p>
<p>When he opens his eyes, Eliot is lit up - still rocking, still bent low over him, but his edges are bright like there's a spotlight above them. Quentin takes a breath— and then lets it out as a choked-off cry when the wave finally tips and crashes down.</p>
<p>He throws his head back as his cock pulses, and the golden crest of pleasure rockets up through him - through both of them, their release overlapping, knocking all the breath from their lungs as they both shiver through it. His forehead drops against Eliot's, or maybe the other way around, for a few final shuddery thrusts before the intensity starts the edge on too much - and after that the wave finally starts to ease off, and a few seconds later someone's lips find what Quentin thinks are his, kissing him as he comes down.</p>
<p>By the time Quentin has figured out which eyes are his to open, Eliot has rolled them sideways and is just barely brushing his nose against Quentin's. His arm is slung over Quentin's waist, one leg slotted between his knees, and their hands are still linked together, resting on the sheets between them. Quentin is still mostly boneless, and there's definitely come drying sticky on his stomach, but he decides to ignore that in favour of the tired contentment Eliot is feeling. He lets that wash over him, soft and drowsy, and curls up a little more, sensing more than seeing Eliot's smile.</p>
<p>"You okay?" Eliot murmurs, sliding his hand across Quentin's ribs and up past his shoulder to gently draw his sweaty hair out of his face. "Think you can sleep now?"</p>
<p>Quentin nods - but he's heard Eliot say that before, hasn't he? On their very first night as a pack, when Eliot stayed up to wait for him to pass out, and— god, how many nights have there been since that Quentin has fallen asleep with Eliot close, but not close enough, or woken up to find him already gone?</p>
<p>Almost as soon as he has the thought, Eliot lets out a decisive sort of breath, and Quentin just has time for dread to settle in him before Eliot sits up. He takes his arm and his leg back, then untangles his fingers from Quentin's slack grip to slide off the bed. Quentin is pushing himself up before he really knows what he's doing, and reaches out to catch his hand again - but Eliot has already moved out of reach, bending down to gather his discarded clothes, slipping his robe back on and heading for the door. "Eliot?"</p>
<p>Eliot pauses and looks back at him, blinking in surprise. Quentin swallows hard. He somehow didn't expect him to actually stop. "I— will you stay?"</p>
<p>Something else has changed, he's sure of it, and this time he wants to make sure Eliot can feel it. He wants to explain everything, his real feelings about the full moon, and the bond, and that he doesn't want to just ignore it— but when Eliot smiles down at him, all the words get backed up on his tongue.</p>
<p>"It's late, way past your bedtime," Eliot sighs, but he does come back to the bed, then leans over to draw the blankets up around Quentin's shoulders. "I've already kept you up long enough."</p>
<p>Quentin frowns up at him. "That's not what I—"</p>
<p>"Q," Eliot cuts him off, but it's gentle, and he strokes a hand through Quentin's hair again. "Just go to sleep."</p>
<p>The touch is soothing, and Quentin really is tired, but— "Okay, tomorrow," he presses, trying not to pout. "I just… I want to talk."</p>
<p>Eliot watches him for a moment, letting out a breath through his nose. Quentin feels unease flicker in him, but he seems to push it away and gives Quentin a quiet smile instead. "Sure. Tomorrow."</p>
<p>Relieved, Quentin nods again, and finally lets Eliot settle him back down. Eliot straightens up to leave but hesitates, something soft and unsure wavering at the back of Quentin's mind for a moment before Eliot ducks back down and presses a warm kiss to his mouth.</p>
<p>"See you in the morning," he murmurs. While heat is still blooming across Quentin's face, he turns and slips out of the room.</p>
<p>Hiding his flush against the sheets, Quentin follows his presence out of the attic, down the stairs, all the way to his bedroom. There's still a flutter of anxiety in his chest about having to wait, but all he can feel from Eliot is—  fondness, the warmth of it familiar. And besides, once he falls asleep, the wait won't seem so long anyway.</p>
<p>He lets the warmth draw him down into drowsiness again, wondering if Eliot is doing the same thing with whatever he can feel from Quentin, wondering if he's wrapping up in the same sort of fond warmth and satisfaction— and though Quentin is almost definitely more than half asleep, for a second he thinks there might be something else brushing at the edge of his mind, something like… anticipation.</p>
<p>A tiny hope lights up inside him. Maybe there's— something, not just on his end, but already between them. Maybe Eliot can feel it too, and maybe they could grow to be— well. He's not really sure what, exactly. But <i>something</i>, and they can figure the rest out as they go.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>great news there's like 3 scenes left to write and hoo boy am i ever fighting myself but it is Going to be Done at a Point in time i swear 2 god. i must see the final wordcount and either highfive myself or lie down immediately. lets get into it<br/>also briefly just fyi, we didn't make a real Depression tag even though it's been mentioned a couple times/is kind of a given, but in this chapter it's pretty prominent for a section. ok great love u</p>
<p>in this chapter, quentin and eliot finally talk about some things.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maybe it's pointless to even try, but Quentin does his best to have a normal, unrushed morning despite the mix of excitement and apprehension he wakes up with. Only a few hours before, the idea of telling Eliot <i>everything</i> somehow seemed more urgent than daunting. Now he's not sure if the full-body jitters he's fighting are more to do with nervousness or eager anticipation.</p>
<p>He talks himself into showering if only just to calm down a little, hoping the steam and spray will get him back to the loose-limbed contentment he had only gotten to enjoy for a few seconds before full consciousness brought the entire previous night back to the forefront of his mind. The memory brings up a dull sort of heat too, when he thinks of how Eliot touched him, how close they were pressed together, how it felt to lose track of everything except the bright spike of pleasure hitting them both at the same time— but the residual stickiness is another part of why he's showering, actually, and he's really trying not to dwell on it.</p>
<p>Turning his face into the spray, Quentin wills himself to be distracted by the idea of finally talking things through with Eliot. Just the thought already gives him a faint sense of relief. The rest of it, the nerves, the anxiety, the misplaced heat - hopefully all of that will go swirling down the drain.</p>
<p>As he turns the shower off and wraps up in towels, though, Quentin wonders if he should maybe give Eliot a bit of time to himself. In the back of his mind, he can feel a little waver of nervousness just barely skimming the surface, like Eliot is trying not to think about it either. Eliot did say <i>in the morning</i>, but there's still a couple hours left in that timeframe. Besides, they live in the same house, and Quentin can feel his presence one floor below, so it's not like he'll be hard to find.</p>
<p>On the other hand, part of Quentin has definitely been struggling not to reach out to Eliot through the bond since the moment he woke up. So maybe he doesn't quite take his time drying off and getting dressed, but he makes sure to hang up the towels and wipe the steam from the mirror - and brush his teeth, since he didn't last night, and he's had— well, a <i>few</i> things in his mouth since the previous morning. He avoids eye contact with his reflection for that part.</p>
<p>Whatever calming effects the hot water had don't really last in the face of his growing restlessness, and by the time Quentin is trying to pull his socks on, he's jittery all over again. He's pretty sure it's mostly eagerness now, at least - though whether it's eagerness to finally see Eliot, or just to get this whole thing over with, he can't really say.</p>
<p>He's also not sure if the itch of nerves he can feel underneath that is Eliot's, or just his own. Either way, he can sense the tension of it projected like a string between them, leading him down the attic hall, to the stairs, to Eliot. After huffing out a determined breath at his reflection, Quentin finally lets himself follow it.</p>
<p>Careful to keep his eyes on the steps, Quentin forces an unhurried pace until, halfway down, he can't resist a glance over to the kitchen. Eliot is there, of course, put together as always, right where Quentin has been able to feel him loitering since he woke up. He's a little surprised to see Julia there beside him, though he's not really sure why - Eliot is her packmate just as much as Quentin is, after all. To see them talking quietly together shouldn't be a shock.</p>
<p>He's just used to her spending most of her time at home with Penny or Kady, he supposes. For her to be up early without them is maybe a little unusual, but not all that peculiar. Although, if Julia is already up and about, then it's probably only a matter of time until the others are too, so maybe the kitchen isn't the best place for him and Eliot to talk about things. Somewhere with a door they can close is more ideal, maybe the balcony, or Eliot's room?</p>
<p>Quentin is halfway through forming an excuse for the two of them to sneak away somewhere when he reaches the bottom step, but falters when both Eliot and Julia immediately look over at him, their conversation abruptly cutting off. It's not a great reaction for his entering a room to provoke, but Julia recovers quickly, smiling as she waves him over. "Hey, good morning!"</p>
<p>"Morning." Quentin does his best to smile back as he crosses the room to join them, but something is... weird, and he can feel nerves starting to poke holes in the calm front he's trying to hold onto. He shoots Eliot a questioning look, but both his expression and his end of the bond are more blank than anything, like reaching out for a brick wall. Eliot quickly glances away though, and Quentin tries not to frown as he shifts his gaze to Julia instead. "What's going on?"</p>
<p>Now that he's closer, he notices the notebook in Julia's hands, like the one he saw her scribbled runes in a few weeks ago, or maybe one of Alice's. She seems to notice him staring at it and lays it down on the counter, beckoning him in for a look. "I was just telling Eliot, I found something last night."</p>
<p>"Oh," Quentin says, trying not to sound as hesitant as he feels. "What, um… what were you looking for?"</p>
<p>The excited spark in Julia's eye somehow doesn't do much to soothe the unease suddenly lapping at his heels. "Well, you remember I told you about that bet?" she says, smiling again. "Whether Idri would force Ess out of his pack?"</p>
<p>Quentin does, though he didn't pay it much thought at the time. "Yeah," he says slowly, "why, did something happen with that?"</p>
<p>"No, that's not the point. Here—" Julia flips back a few pages in the notebook, all covered in Alice's careful handwriting. "So, there's this thing alpha wolves can do, to release someone from the pack bond. It doesn't happen super often because of, you know, the stray factor, but often enough for Alice to have interviewed a couple people about it."</p>
<p>Quentin has heard of this before, wolves getting expelled from their packs or asking permission to be emancipated. The idea isn't super comforting either way, even if it is in relation to a wolf he dislikes. "Her notes are kind of cryptic at some points," Julia goes on, running her fingers down the page, "but from what I can tell, it's sort of like the initiation ritual in reverse. Like, taking back what was given out, unhooking the connection."</p>
<p>"Okay," Quentin manages, still hesitant. He's not <i>that</i> interested in what happens to Ess - he's not really sure why she's telling him this at all, or why Eliot feels so wary. "So what?"</p>
<p>"So, I asked Alice about it last night, keeping it vague, just to get her thoughts." She looks up at him, eager now. "We'll need to look into it a bit more, figure out some alterations, but... I think it could work."</p>
<p>Quentin breathes a nervous laugh. "For <i>what?</i> What are we even— what are you talking about?"</p>
<p>"Your mate bond," Julia says, her gaze still glinting with determination. "I think I found a way to break it."</p>
<p>Tipping for a single, precarious second, Quentin's heart drops, though his pulse remains in his throat. His entire ribcage seems to be weighed down by the words as they sink into him, his lungs folding up, the sudden pit in his stomach dragging everything in. Julia keeps talking, but her voice seems to come from far off as she turns back to the notebook. "The reverse-ritual will have to be done during a new moon, when the bond is at its weakest. Whatever steps you took to connect to each other, you should be able to—"</p>
<p>"But it's— we can't," Quentin forces out, despite his throat constricting. "Margo said it's permanent, she said it's deeper than the pack bond."</p>
<p>"Well, she was half-right," Julia allows, flipping another page. "Mate bonds <i>are</i> different - just one wolf to another, there's no alpha input involved, and, yeah, they're not really... <i>supposed</i> to be broken."</p>
<p>"But the pack bond isn't, either," Eliot cuts in without looking up, voice detached. "That doesn't mean it's impossible." </p>
<p>Quentin can't feel him anymore, not under his own slowly mounting panic, but he remembers Eliot saying <i>I tore it out</i> with the same carefully impassive tone. If anyone knows about breaking bonds, Eliot would, right? The urge to protest rises in Quentin regardless, he just can't get any words out before Julia nods in agreement.</p>
<p>"The ritual probably won't be a walk in the park, for that reason," she allows, frowning apologetically. "But if you're both willing, I still think it's doable."</p>
<p>"Maybe," Quentin manages, trying to keep his voice steady - it doesn't really work when everything he wants to say is already jumbling together. "But— Jules, I don't…"</p>
<p>He trails off, glancing at Eliot for support, hoping he can explain more eloquently how things have changed - but Eliot seems to be hesitating, tight-lipped as he stares down at the pages open on the counter. Even when he lifts his gaze to catch Quentin's for a moment, it's not enough to tell what he's thinking before Julia takes another breath and draws Quentin's attention back to her with a hand on his arm.</p>
<p>"Look, I know when you became mates, the situation wasn't really— I mean, it saved your life," she says, giving him a soft look that she then turns on Eliot. "And Eliot, I'll never be able to repay you for your part in that. But I know that by doing that, you both gave up the chance to choose for yourselves who you want to have this connection with." Her touch is probably meant to be soothing, but it doesn't help Quentin's roiling apprehension.</p>
<p>"So when I found this," Julia goes on, excitement creeping back into her voice, like it's— an adventure, or something, an interesting problem to solve— Quentin reluctantly lets her tug him closer to the notebook on stiff legs. "I thought, if there's a way to undo it, now that you're okay, to reset and give you that choice back…"</p>
<p>She flips another page, then looks up at Quentin like she's waiting for him to finish her sentence. When he doesn't, she softens again, giving him a patient smile. "You told me before that the bond has kind of already done all it needs to, right?" she prompts. "So this is a chance to choose again. Something you really want, this time." She glances over at Eliot too, determination back in her gaze. "Both of you."</p>
<p>Quentin has seen that look enough times to know her idea is viable, at the very least, if not already spot-on, but— is it even a chance he wants to take? To undo the bond, to take back what was given?</p>
<p>"We're in," Eliot says, straightening up and moving away before Quentin can even take a breath. "On the new moon, you said? Great, so we can get it done by the end of the week."</p>
<p>"I didn't mean this coming new moon," Julia says with a frown. "That might be pushing it. I mean, what about the witches' spell?"</p>
<p>"So we'll skip out on the casting," Eliot says easily, waving her off as he crosses the kitchen. "We'll do the ritual here, by ourselves, and then join up with you and the others for the hunt when the sun comes up. There's no point waiting another whole month if we can have it out of the way this cycle."</p>
<p>A swell of dread falls over Quentin so quickly it's almost dizzying. "Still, that's— it's so soon—"</p>
<p>He cuts off when Eliot turns back to face him, eyebrows raised in cold amusement. "We both want to get this over with, don't we? So why delay?" Quentin's lungs clench again, and Eliot turns away to stride out of the room. "If that's all sorted, I have some work to do, so— you two carry on."</p>
<p>Quentin watches him head for the stairwell, the ice from his stare seeming to spread down through his ribs. The cold shocks him enough that he can shove aside enough of his panic to reach out, but Eliot feels— blank, his mood hazy and undefined once again.</p>
<p>There has to be something, though - the warmth that Quentin felt last night, or even the nervousness from earlier— but as Eliot disappears down the stairs, all Quentin can feel is the space between them, shoved far apart across a frustratingly familiar expanse of uncertain impressions.</p>
<p>How many times has Quentin let him leave like this? How many times has he let Eliot close himself off? If he's going to push back, it has to be now, before Eliot can make this choice for both of them. Finally putting his nervous energy to use, Quentin slips out of Julia's grasp and leaves her in the kitchen, hurrying to the stairs to follow Eliot down.</p>
<p>Haven is quiet and empty this early, the short hall of frosted glass not even catching much sunlight yet. As Quentin comes out into the bar proper, the only sound is the sharp clack of glass against wood, and he lets it lead him to the counter. Eliot is behind the bartop, sorting bottles with probably more force than he needs to use - but despite his somewhat jerky movements, he doesn't look or feel anything but aloof.</p>
<p>Quentin almost wishes he was angry, scowling, <i>something</i> to show the sharp turn he's taken away from everything he was feeling the night before. Eliot barely reacts as he approaches, not even glancing up until Quentin is directly across the counter from him, and even then he quickly looks back down.</p>
<p>"Was there something else?" he asks, dry and almost bored, turning away to replace a bottle on its shelf. "We won't need a busboy down here until tonight, Q. You don't have to hang around."</p>
<p>Quentin frowns at his back. "That's not why I'm— El, can we just…" He trails off, waiting for Eliot to face him again, but Eliot keeps his eyes on his work. "Can we, like, discuss this?"</p>
<p>He catches a split second of Eliot's mouth quirking into an incredulous smirk as he turns to take down another bottle. "Do we need to? I don't think there's much to say."</p>
<p>His easy, uncaring tone has Quentin struggling with the sudden urge to vault himself over the counter, to get right into Eliot's space and make him pay attention. He sets his jaw instead and takes a breath. "Last night, you said we would talk."</p>
<p>He didn't really want to bring it up like this, like an accusation, but it gets Eliot to pause, at least. His hand hovers over another bottle, then drops as he turns back around with a short sigh to give Quentin a dully expectant look. "Okay, fine," he says, his voice clipped. "We’re talking. What?"</p>
<p>The panicky trill that Quentin shoved aside starts up again, prickling in his chest. He forces himself not to hesitate under Eliot's impatient gaze. "Why did you tell Julia we'll do the ritual?"</p>
<p>"Because we're going to," Eliot says flatly, then scoffs a little. "Why wouldn't we, Quentin? It's like she said, a chance to reset."</p>
<p>Quentin furrows his brow. "Don't I get a say in this?"</p>
<p>"I assumed we were on the same page about it," Eliot says, crossing his arms. "I mean, you've already told Julia your side of it, how it's more or less pointless to be connected now that you're not actively bleeding, so—"</p>
<p>"That's not what I said to her," Quentin interrupts, flushing. It's not what he <i>meant</i>, anyway. "I told her we were just— dealing with it, you know, figuring it out— but that was before," he insists, stepping closer to the counter to get Eliot's straying gaze back on him.</p>
<p>Eliot raises an eyebrow. "Before what?"</p>
<p>"Before all of this," Quentin says, gesturing between them over the bartop. He can still feel his pulse thudding in his throat, but he tries not to let his voice waver as he forces the words out in a rush. "After the bite healed, I didn't think we would ever get back to that, how it felt the night we bonded— how <i>we</i> felt. And then on the full moon, when we were together, it was— it was close, but different, and… something changed, after that. You know what I'm talking about," he presses, searching Eliot's face. </p>
<p>But Eliot only leans back against the shelves, like he's trying to put distance between them despite the small space. "And <i>you</i> know that the full moon is one hell of a stimulant, where bonds are concerned," he sighs, impatient again. "I thought we already sorted this out."</p>
<p>Quentin bites back a huff. "Okay, what about last night, then? There was no full moon involved, and it was still—"</p>
<p>"Last night we both needed a distraction," Eliot cuts him off. His voice isn't quite sharp, but it's enough to make Quentin recoil. "We were stressed out, keyed up, and we got— caught up in that, alright?"</p>
<p>Swallowing hard, Quentin tries to shove the pang of hurt aside even as it rears up from the pit of his stomach. How can that be true when he can remember so clearly how Eliot had looked down at him? How gently he had traced across the scars on Quentin's chest? How he had kissed him before he left? </p>
<p>As if he can tell what Quentin is thinking about, Eliot looks away, shrugging a second later. "It doesn't have to mean anything," he says, quieter now, but still firm.</p>
<p>Quentin shoves down another pang, staring hard at the side of his face. "What if it does?" </p>
<p>It's like the balcony all over again, trying to make Eliot understand the shape of this thing he hasn't even fully felt out himself yet. There's no giddy excitement making his thoughts all run together this time, just the sting of desperation in his throat. He curls his fingers around the edge of the counter and watches Eliot's brows pinch together.</p>
<p>"Whatever this is, I only feel it with you," Quentin says, willing Eliot to look back at him, pleading with his eyes and hoping Eliot can feel the weight. "And I really— I don't think it's just the bond, Eliot. I mean, we both know how this feels, right?"</p>
<p>Eliot does glance at him then, careful and almost wary, but it's enough to light up the tiny hope in Quentin's chest. It flickers in the same place he felt it the night before, lifting enough of the prickling dread that he manages a shy, tentative smile. "So, what if we—"</p>
<p>"Q, come on." Eliot's cautious look smooths out as he huffs a laugh, like he's beating Quentin to a punchline. He's smiling too, but it's— wrong, a smirk with no amusement in it. "Let's be serious. This isn't what either of us wanted."</p>
<p>Quentin flounders for a moment, knocked off-balance. Something dark and bitter floods into the space between them, spreading cold through Quentin's ribs, dousing the tiny flame and weighing him down again as he tries to make his voice work. "But—"</p>
<p>"But what? There's no point ignoring that, Quentin," Eliot scoffs, turning away again. "The truth is, if you weren't dying and we had a do-over, you would have chosen differently. We both would. And now we have a chance to." Even with his back to the counter, Quentin can still see his jaw clench when he lowers his voice. "It would be stupid not to take it."</p>
<p>Guilt, heavy and familiar, curls easily into the empty space Quentin finds left between his lungs. How could he forget that he basically forced Eliot into this? That Eliot gave up so much to save him? This really is an opportunity to give it all back, his privacy, his future— and, Quentin remembers, as the guilt twists further into him, his chance to find a <i>real</i> mate. Someone he actually wants, like Julia said.</p>
<p>In the face of that, everything he wanted so badly to tell Eliot seems... silly, inconsequential. If this ritual will make things go back to normal— well, that's what he's been trying to give Eliot this whole time, isn't it? Quentin told himself he wanted to make this whole thing easier for him, and then somehow, between the full moon and the overlap and everything else, he lost track of that completely.</p>
<p>He manages to nod, though he doesn't think Eliot notices, and if he does, he doesn't react. The conversation is apparently over. Even if Quentin had more to say, he's not sure he could drag his voice back up out of the deep well it's sunk into below his ribs.</p>
<p>What matters is that Eliot is right - this is a chance they can't pass up, and it's no use dwelling on what's changed if they're about to hit reset.</p>
<p>Despite all of that, though, Quentin can't help pausing in the hall on his way out, hovering behind the glass as he reaches out through the bond one more time. But try as he might, he still can't feel anything but an ache across the gap between him and Eliot.</p>
<p>He manages to climb the stairs, even though there seem to be more steps now than there were on the way down. The ones up to the attic are even longer, but Quentin forces himself to keep going, ignoring Julia calling out to him from the dining table. He just needs a few minutes by himself to sort out whatever's going on in his chest, and put everything back in the right place. Maybe a few more just to sit down and remember how to take a full breath.</p>
<p>He feels out of sync with everything, like his feet aren't hitting the floor at the right time, like his door makes the wrong sound when it closes. Even Julia's voice is full of static when it comes into his mind. Quentin doesn't respond to that either. His bed, at least, is right where he left it. He definitely means to sit on the edge, but finds himself crawling back under the covers instead, the restlessness that carried him downstairs in the first place dissolving like dust as he curls up.</p>
<p>It's bound to be too warm once the day heats up, and Quentin knows that sweating through his clothes definitely won't help how bad he feels - spending the whole day alone in his room probably won't help either, but it's all his body wants to do now, apparently, and he can't come up with a good reason to disagree. All he can think about is Eliot's cold expression, his breath of laughter, as if Quentin was just joking— and, honestly, he might as well have been. How could he have thought that Eliot would ever want this, would want <i>him—</i></p>
<p>But it doesn't matter now. Or it won't in a few days. What else can he do? Nothing, not without probably fucking up even worse.</p>
<p>Quentin isn't sure how long it takes to finally work up the energy to kick his jeans off, but at some point after that, he notices Julia's presence outside his door - Kady's too, though they both leave when he doesn't answer their knocking. He wonders if Julia has told everyone else the change of plans yet. It's almost like a highschool breakup, having to designate friends to spread the word— but then again, it's not like there's much <i>to</i> break up, since he and Eliot were never really… anything.</p>
<p>The thought makes his lungs hurt regardless. Quentin tries desperately to push everything away, send it all right out of his mind like Eliot does, but it doesn't really work. The best he can manage is a heavy sort of quiet that holds everything else down, but not well enough to keep things from prying their way through if his thoughts wander too close. There's a numbness that almost seems to be waiting at the edges though, more familiar the closer it gets. Quentin knows this is the point where he should be mindful, get up and go talk to Julia, drink some water, or whatever, but…</p>
<p>It's so much less work to just lie here and let himself sink down into it. Everything that's twisted up between his ribs hurts a little less if he keeps still anyway, until he can almost forget he ever felt any different.</p>
<p>He's aware of time passing, but in a detached way, like it's only happening around him. He sleeps and wakes up. The sky changes colours. The moon gradually slims down each night. Sometimes the sun shines in and he rolls over to keep it out of his eyes. He keeps meaning to close the curtains, but that would require getting up for something other than the bathroom or, sometimes, a sip of water or whatever snack he finds left by his bedside.</p>
<p>Even deep in the unfeeling he's wrapped himself in, Quentin is aware enough of the others to register when they come and go. It's mostly Julia, but Alice has brought him things too. Even Josh, once or twice, and Margo - though Quentin makes himself curl away from her the one time she reaches out to touch his forehead, and she doesn't try that again. He can tell she's upset about it, but she doesn't say anything, not even through the bond.</p>
<p>In her defense, Quentin supposes, between coordinating the hunt and readying a gemstone heist for the witches' spell, Margo definitely has other things to deal with at the moment— especially now that he and Eliot won't be there for the casting. Thinking about that makes his lungs constrict though, so he tries not to.</p>
<p>None of his other packmates usually say much or stay long, except Julia. She's dealt with this before, of course, more times than Quentin cares to count. He feels a vague, faraway pang of guilt whenever she leaves his room after trying to coax him out of bed, but it's never enough to actually make him get up. The others nudge him through the bond sometimes, asking if he's alright or if he'll come downstairs - though that question stops after the first couple days - but he doesn't have the energy to send anything back. What would he even say if he did?</p>
<p>He hates making everyone worry, but— maybe he should've expected this. Even if he had fought his way out of this spiral before it happened, it eventually would've crept up on him and dragged him down no matter what. He's sure Julia is already having a hard enough time explaining what set him off - if she even knows, that is.</p>
<p>Other than her, the only person who could probably connect the dots is— well, Eliot. But Quentin doesn't hear or feel anything from him, and hasn't since he first came up to his room. He's honestly not sure if the alternative would be more or less of an incentive to get up.</p>
<p>Either way, Eliot's presence, normally closer than the others', is hazy and distant the one time Quentin sinks down far enough to want to reach out. The sensation barely skims the top layer of numbness off of him, and he still can't gather enough energy to really <i>care</i>, but Quentin does catch himself wondering about the flipside. Can Eliot still sense what he's feeling, even when he's like this? Has he somehow dragged Eliot under his deep, sinking spiral without meaning to?</p>
<p>Maybe he should've warned Eliot before they bonded, just in case. It'll be an upside to disconnecting, at least - Eliot won't ever have to worry about getting pulled down into Quentin's bullshit ever again. </p>
<p>For a split second, Quentin manages to hope that he feels just as faraway in Eliot's mind as Eliot does to him. That would be better for both of them. Then he closes his eyes and pulls the quiet down around him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>Quentin wakes up almost with a start as his bedroom door creaks open, unsure when he'd last fallen asleep. As Julia steps quietly through the doorway, his first thought is of the way she had peeked into his room the morning after the bonding ritual, after Margo - and Eliot - had left.<p>It's a strange memory to be hit with so suddenly, but it's something different from the monotony his brain has been stuck in, and even the prickle of pain that comes with it is more than Quentin has felt in a while. He supposes it's a sign that he's finally coming out of it, resurfacing in the real world where time passes like it's supposed to and he can actually care about things. He's not sure yet if going from feeling nothing to feeling, well, <i>bad</i> is worth it, but Julia has already noticed he's awake.</p>
<p>She even smiles, tentative but relieved as she comes over to the bed, carrying a water bottle and a plate of what might be crackers. Quentin surprises himself by sitting up - slowly, and he stays more curled up than not, but just managing to move in someone else's presence is sort of a win.</p>
<p>"Hey," Julia says softly. She puts the bottle and plate down on his bedside table and tucks her hair behind her ears to lean in close. "How are you doing?"</p>
<p>Quentin swallows dryly, giving her a weak shrug. He's tired, more than anything, and moving around has made him unfortunately aware of just how long he's been wearing these clothes, how sour his skin feels. He scrubs the back of his wrist across his clammy forehead, then pushes his lank hair out of his face, grimacing at the grimy feeling between his fingers.</p>
<p>"Not sure yet," he croaks. His voice is thin from disuse, but he's pretty sure he could have said just about anything and still gotten another relieved smile from Julia - though it dims a little as she sits gingerly on the edge of his bed.</p>
<p>"Well, you've been up here for a few days," she tells him, her soft tone threaded with concern. "And I don't know if you've been able to keep track, but tonight is—"</p>
<p>"The new moon," Quentin finishes for her. Even curled away from the window with his face hidden in blankets, he could still feel the moon shrinking to a sliver. Now, the thought comes with some dread attached, but not enough to make him wince. "I know."</p>
<p>"Okay, that's good." He can feel Julia's careful gaze on him while he adjusts the tangle of blankets, can almost sense her next words before she says them. "Is that why you…"</p>
<p>She trails off, probably trying to find a way to make 'why you haven't moved for almost a week' sound gentle, but Quentin shakes his head. The new moon has sent him into a spiral before, and it might have been a contributing factor this time, but he knows the main catalyst was unrelated.</p>
<p>"There is a reason, though," Julia presses, still searching his face. "Will you tell me what happened?"</p>
<p>Quentin keeps his eyes down. Even if he wasn't exhausted just thinking about it, even if he wanted to, he's not sure he could explain it in a way she'd understand. He's not even sure he fully understands it himself.</p>
<p>Eventually Julia relents, sighing a little as she turns away. She picks up the plate again and offers it to him - it is crackers after all, the weird gourmet ones Penny likes that are probably meant to be eaten with something a bit fancier than the blocks of cheddar Julia has provided. Quentin can't tell if he's actually hungry, but he's pretty sure he can manage to eat a snack. It'll be easier than talking, anyway.</p>
<p>Halfway through the tiny plate he feels a little more real, like his tastebuds are waking up other parts of him that he didn't realize were turned off. It's enough to let Julia urge him out of bed, and, once he's upright and can fully appreciate how gross he feels, down the hall to shower. </p>
<p>She waits for him inside the bathroom rather than out in the hall, possibly more to make sure he doesn't drown than anything, but Quentin knows it's not worth arguing about. He lets the hot water wash away the film of stale sweat and fatigue clinging to his skin, lets the steam open up his lungs and takes his first full breath in what actually might be days. He's almost annoyed by how much better he feels afterwards - not perfect, by any means, still heavy and hurting, still bad overall, but… he can feel it, at least.</p>
<p>He sits on edge of the bathtub, wrapped in definitely more towels than he needs, and lets Julia dry his hair. As she gently wipes droplets from his face, he wonders if she's told the others what his problem is, or kept it vague. He wonders just how much of the last few days she's spent worrying, why she hasn't lost patience with him— but it's a true mark of how much showering helped that he's able to push that thought away after a second. Her presence is as familiar as it's always been, in his mind and at his side. Even the rest of the pack he can still feel at his edges, definitely within reaching distance.</p>
<p>Like she's reading his thoughts, Julia sighs out a breath and finally breaks the soft silence between them. "You know, if I hadn't managed to get you up, Penny was going to try next."</p>
<p>Quentin snorts. "Yeah fucking right."</p>
<p>"Okay, fine, he was a <i>little</i> lower on the list," Julia laughs, rolling her eyes. "But everyone has been worried."</p>
<p>Ducking his head, Quentin manages a nod. He probably owes them all an apology. Before shame can properly set in though, Julia seems to read that thought, too. "I don't mean that to be a guilt trip," she says, draping the towel in her hands around Quentin's shoulders. "It's just a fact. They all care about you."</p>
<p>Quentin excavates one arm from the layers of terrycloth to tuck his damp hair behind his ear. "You can tell them I'm okay," he mumbles.</p>
<p>"Or you can tell them yourself," Julia points out, but pauses when Quentin doesn't raise his head. She kneels down on the tile to peer up at him, a concerned crease between her brows. "Are you really okay, Q?" she asks softly.</p>
<p>Well. He's still tired, and sad, and a little bit numb. But he's not, like, <i>deep in it</i> anymore, even if he's not fully out of it, either. "Yeah," he manages to sigh, trying to smile at her. "Just… a rough few days."</p>
<p>But Julia doesn't seem satisfied. "So what put you there? What's going on?" Quentin drops her searching gaze again, but she doesn't let up. "If it's not the moon, is it about the Beast? Or the locator spell? That's all sorted out, Margo and Kady picked up the gemstones. You don't have to worry about it. You and Eliot can just focus on the ritual tonight."</p>
<p>The twist in Quentin's stomach is almost familiar, by this point. He presses his lips together and clenches his fingers in the damp towels around him, but Julia notices him tense up. "That's sorted, too," she assures him. "Eliot helped. We figured it all out, and it's ready to go."</p>
<p>Quentin really tries not to show just how much worse that makes him feel, but he can't help the words that come crawling up his throat. "What made you go looking for the ritual in the first place?" he asks, maybe a little sharper than necessary. </p>
<p>Julia frowns for a second before she responds. "I told you, I didn't," she says slowly. "We had to adapt it from something else, the pack release rite."</p>
<p>"Right, yeah, but— why were you trying to find a way to break a mate bond at all?" Quentin does look back at her then, anger suddenly flaring up beside his misery. "I didn't ask you for that."</p>
<p>"I know," Julia says, her brow furrowed adamantly. "But you never had much to say about it, beyond that you were <i>just dealing with it</i>, and that it was fine. I figured you were just being, you know, stubborn. Self-sacrificing." She pauses for a moment, a realization crossing her face before Quentin can look away. "Is <i>that</i> what this is about? The ritual?"</p>
<p>Quentin shrugs halfheartedly, his irritation abruptly fizzling out. "I think it's probably a lot of things."</p>
<p>"But that's part of it," Julia presses, reaching out to touch his knee. "Look, Q, I know the timing is... kind of weird, but after this, you won't have to worry about it anymore." Quentin's insides twist again, but he does his best not to wince. "And, you know," Julia goes on, her voice going soft once more, "if you ever meet someone... when the time comes, it'll be <i>your</i> decision to bond with them."</p>
<p>Part of Quentin wants to scoff at her, but a bigger, more miserable part is just too tired. "I did have a choice, before," he mumbles. "It's not like he forced me to say yes."</p>
<p>He knows without looking that Julia is frowning at him. "But the circumstances did. It's supposed to be up to you." He feels her fingers at his temple, brushing his hair back where it's falling into his face again. "Don't you want that choice back?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," Quentin admits, wry for a split second before his chest throbs and he pulls himself in tighter. "I don't know if I even— if I want to choose anyone else."</p>
<p>He doesn't really mean to say it, and almost dares hope it was quiet enough for Julia to miss, but her touch falters a moment later as the words sink in. "You and Eliot were—?"</p>
<p>"No," Quentin cuts her off, almost shying away from her careful tone. He already feels pathetic enough without her saying it out loud. "Not… not really. But sometimes, it seemed like— I mean, maybe I was projecting, but I really thought we could be... something." He sighs it out, watching water drip onto the bathmat between his feet. "It doesn't matter now."</p>
<p>"It kind of does," Julia says, almost incredulous. "Q, I thought you were unhappy. I thought you wanted— why didn't you say anything?"</p>
<p>Quentin really does scoff at that. "When? While Eliot was nodding along with the plan? While he was reminding me that the only reason we ended up together was because I was dying?" Sarcasm doesn't make it hurt any less though, and he doesn't have the energy to keep it up. He shrugs weakly, still looking down. "He wants to go through with it. He's made that clear."</p>
<p>"But why did <i>you</i> agree to it, if that's how you feel about him?" Julia asks. She seems genuinely confused about it, and upset in a way Quentin didn't expect. He can only hold her gaze for a moment before he has to look away.</p>
<p>"Like you said, it's about having a choice," he says, swallowing hard. "Eliot deserves that chance, too. He shouldn't have to settle for me, just because I'm…"</p>
<p>He trails off, fighting to keep a tremor out of his voice. Julia hesitates briefly, then gets up to sit next to him on the edge of the tub, drawing his free hand into her lap. When Quentin turns to face her again, she's smiling just a little. "What if he feels the same way?"</p>
<p>There's an almost phantom flicker in Quentin's chest from whatever tiny, delicate thing used to light up there. He shakes his head.</p>
<p>"He doesn't. And besides, he's—" Eliot's still got his true mate somewhere out there, whether he's been looking or not. After tonight, he'll have another chance to find them. Julia doesn't know about that story though, and it's not Quentin's place to tell her.</p>
<p>"He's not supposed to be with me," he says instead. "He deserves to be with someone he actually chose." Quentin has thought that from the beginning, hasn't he? And here, finally, is the opportunity he's been waiting for. "Someone he loves."</p>
<p>Julia grips his hand tightly, giving him a sad look. "You deserve that, too."</p>
<p>Quentin shakes his head again. "Eliot gave up so much to save me, Jules. This might be all I can do in return." He manages a weak smile, squeezing her fingers back. "Please, just... let me."</p>
<p>He knows she's not placated, let alone happy about it, but Julia doesn't argue any further. Quentin wonders if he's managed to tire her out, or if maybe she's just biding her time - either way, she seems willing to let it drop for the time being, and gives his hair one more gentle brush away from his face before helping him up.</p>
<p>She supervises while Quentin shaves off several days worth of stubble, hangs up all his towels while he's brushing his teeth, and leads him back to his bedroom to change into fresh clothes. She seems intent to stay close to him for the rest of the afternoon, which, despite the lingering heartache, Quentin can't honestly say he minds. It turns out to be later in the day than he'd assumed, closer to dinner than lunch even with the sun still shining through the window.</p>
<p>The thought of changing his bedsheets makes Quentin want to curl up again more than anything, so Julia opens the window to dispel the stale air instead, and pulls Quentin down to sit on her neatly-made bed. She tells him a bit of what he's missed in the past few days while he sips at the bottle of water she brought earlier - like Penny's escapades behind the bar with Todd during a night that Haven was short-staffed, and how exactly Margo and Kady pulled off their diamond heist - though she's careful to step around any real mention of the spell or the other events of the approaching night. Quentin doesn't mind that, either.</p>
<p>When the sun starts to dip, Julia asks, almost casually, if he wants to come downstairs to dinner. Quentin almost says no, but— he has the beginning of an appetite for the first time in days, and he figures he really should let the others know he's alive. Julia's pleased grin when he agrees is maybe a <i>little</i> exaggerated, but it's still near-infectious, so much so that Quentin almost forgets to be worried about it until they're already halfway down the stairs.</p>
<p>Despite the anxiety that rears up basically as soon as Julia tugs him down the final step, seeing their packmates waiting in the kitchen ends up being more of a relief than Quentin expects. Margo and Eliot aren't there, but he doesn't let himself wonder about that, instead focusing on the others' almost laughable attempts to restrain their enthusiasm in greeting him. That, and the weird, forced normalcy in their mannerisms makes him think Julia probably told them not to make a big deal out of his attendance. Quentin definitely appreciates the thought, maybe moreso because of how indiscreet they are about it.</p>
<p>But when the six of them sit down in the dining room, Kady slides her hand across his shoulders as she passes, just briefly, but almost heavy with meaning. Quentin also notices Alice sliding her chair a little closer to his, and Julia, even as she sits across from him, keeps her foot on top of his underneath the table, and Penny— well, Penny doesn't really say or do much, but he takes the seat on Quentin's other side with almost aggressive nonchalance, and that says more than enough, really. Josh tops it off by recounting werewolf film trivia with enough passion to keep him pleasantly distracted through the meal, enough so that he barely thinks about the empty chairs at either end of the table.</p>
<p>Maybe it's because they're all so close to him that Quentin doesn't really notice the range of his perception losing ground. By the time he figures out that the fatigue settling over him isn't just due to exerting more energy than he has in days, the sun is already setting outside, dark creeping in at the edge of the deep orange coming in through the windows across the house. He honestly almost forgot about this part of the new moon - the slowly creeping quiet settling in his mind, the hum of the pack bond gradually dying down to silence. No one else brings it up though, and Quentin still manages to keep most of his focus on the conversation at hand while they clear the table, ignoring the way the threads tying him to the others are fading, little by little.</p>
<p>While he's helping Alice wash dishes afterwards, there comes a point when she passes him a soapy plate to rinse and Quentin abruptly realizes he can't sense her presence anymore. She's still there, obviously, still right next to him, and he knows it'll come back, but— at the same time, he can't help reminding himself that she and the others are heading out to the coven's warehouse pretty soon.</p>
<p>He's not super worried about the witches or the spellcasting, but he's nervous about the time spent apart. Tomorrow morning, they might not have very long together before they group up with the other packs to hunt the Beast, and at that point, anything could happen. Some of them might not make it home. He might feel the pack bond return at sunrise only to have parts of it ripped out again. Quentin knows that's not really a helpful thought for the current moment, but his brain <i>was</i> more or less stuck in Unhelpful Thoughts Mode until just a few hours ago, and it's a little hard to shake.</p>
<p>Still, he tries to refocus. Whether or not the hunt goes off the rails, he's with his pack now, and will be again in the morning. They just have to get through this night first - which they will, even if he can't feel them, even if they're spending it in different places. Quentin spares a longing thought for the last month's new moon spent in the cozy loft, with the stupid boardgames, and Eliot's impromptu storytime—</p>
<p>The thought of Eliot reenters Quentin's mind with a sick jolt. He realizes he never bothered to reach out through the mate bond again once he woke up, never checked to see if he could feel Eliot any clearer. It's too late now, with his mind almost eerily silent, and since he and Eliot will be doing the whole resetting ritual later tonight, Quentin is probably never going to feel it again. Not the soft press of Eliot's mood at the edge of his thoughts, not the foreign swoop of someone else's emotion flowing through him, not the pleasant blur of the lines between them as they slip past each other into the same space.</p>
<p>"Quentin?" He blinks, glancing up at Alice and then down at the fork that he's been rinsing for the past couple minutes. "Everything okay?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Quentin forces out, hurriedly placing it in the drying rack. He swallows past the tight feeling in his throat, but can't do anything about the knot in his stomach. "Just, you know. Tired."</p>
<p>Alice doesn't press, even though he's pretty sure she sees right through him. She gives him a sympathetic smile as she hands him another soapy dish, and Quentin does his best to keep his thoughts far away from Eliot, even once the sink is empty.</p>
<p>The others don't actually get ready to leave for the warehouse until past midnight, when it's been fully dark outside for a couple hours already. Josh's helpful reminder for everyone to wear shoes they can run in doesn't do much for the mounting anxiety that Quentin is barely tamping down. He lingers by the couch with his arms crossed while they do their final preparations, trying not to fidget. Margo is apparently going to meet them downstairs in the courtyard, so they all file out through the balcony door, Alice and Josh, then Kady and Penny - but Julia hangs back.</p>
<p>"I hate leaving you by yourself again," she sighs, stepping closer to him. Quentin excavates one hand from where it's tightly tucked against his chest when she reaches out, and lets her curl her fingers around his. "Maybe I could stay behind."</p>
<p>For a second, Quentin really considers it. It would be nice, honestly, if only just to have her comfort after the ritual - but at the same time, the thought of anyone watching while he and Eliot... <i>disconnect</i> makes him feel a little sick. Before he can figure out how to put that politely though, a reluctant voice from the balcony doorway speaks up. "Actually, you can't."</p>
<p>Penny and Kady are both hovering there, looking in with uncomfortable expressions. "We need you for the locator spell," Kady reminds Julia. "You're the compass." Her gaze flicks over to Quentin and her mouth twists a little more. "Sorry."</p>
<p>Julia turns back to him with a worried pinch to her brows, but Quentin tries to shrug it off, relief and dread mixing in the pit of his stomach. She hesitates for a moment longer when Penny starts to beckon her over, but eventually lets Quentin's hand drop to join the other two outside.</p>
<p>"Good luck," Kady says, giving Quentin one last apologetic look. He manages a weak smile in return as she slides the door shut and the three of them head down the balcony stairs.</p>
<p>They clearly know about the ritual by now, but he wonders if Julia told them about him and Eliot specifically— or maybe even what he admitted to her earlier. Any other time, the idea of Julia gossiping about him would probably make him upset, but right now he can't really bring himself to feel anything but exhaustion. And it won't matter after tonight, anyway.</p>
<p>He wanders closer to the window and looks down at the little circle the others have made, huddled together in the courtyard. Margo hasn't joined them yet, so it looks like they're just waiting around. After a few minutes of watching them, Quentin huffs at himself, and decides he might as well go stand around in the dark for a bit, too. There's no point staying inside if he's just going to stare at the others through the window the whole time, and at least if he's out there, he'll have company a little longer.</p>
<p>However, the thin t-shirt he pulled on after his shower might not cut it now that the night has cooled off, so he quickly heads upstairs and grabs a soft grey zip-up hoodie from his room. As he comes back out to the landing, pulling his sleeves down and adjusting the hood, he hears voices below and pauses at the top of the stairs. He peeks down through the railing to see both Margo and Eliot coming up from the bar, and is almost startled by the realization that he hasn't actually <i>seen</i> either of them in days. Their conversation is quiet, but the house is too, and their words drift easily up the stairs for Quentin to hear. </p>
<p>"—could bring wolfsbane," Eliot is saying as he climbs the last couple steps. "As a last resort, maybe."</p>
<p>"Fogg mentioned that," Margo sighs, coming up behind him. "But I don't love the idea of bringing it anywhere near the coven. Strategic accomplice or not, Marina's still kind of a wildcard right now. Not to mention, a lethal dose for us could be like a mild asthma attack for the Beast."</p>
<p>"Better to rely on what we know will work, then," Eliot says airily, extending one hand with a flourish, which Margo is already poised to take. Quentin can't quite see either of their faces, but their playful loftiness is hard not to smile at.</p>
<p>"Teeth and claws, bitch," Margo says, waggling her fingertips as she slips out of Eliot's grasp. "I painted my nails for this."</p>
<p>Eliot huffs a laugh and drops his hand. "We'll save the wolfsbane for a real emergency. Even this ritual can go without it, thanks to the moon."</p>
<p>Quentin's stomach clenches weakly. He watches Eliot turn away toward the kitchen, but Margo seems to pause. "Hey," she calls after him, making him glance back. "Are you really serious about this?"</p>
<p>Halting mid-step, Eliot turns back around to face her. "Why wouldn't I be?"</p>
<p>"Eliot," Margo says flatly, crossing her arms. "You can't honestly think—"</p>
<p>"I do," Eliot cuts her off. His voice has gone from light and jaunty to tense within only a few seconds. "This is the best option."</p>
<p>Quentin can picture Margo rolling her eyes. "For who?"</p>
<p>"For both of us," Eliot says, then scoffs. "You're the one who said it might not work."</p>
<p>"I meant the bonding ritual," Margo says, slow like it should be obvious. "And it <i>did</i> work, because you're—"</p>
<p>"Don't."</p>
<p>"Eliot."</p>
<p>Her voice is almost disappointed. Letting out a short breath, Eliot shifts his weight, angling further away from her. Quentin wishes he could see his face. "Look, things don't always pan out just because <i>you</i> want them to," he huffs.</p>
<p>Margo tilts her head, her tone going sharp. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"</p>
<p>"It means you of all people should know that I can't do this, okay?" Eliot snaps. He seems to regret it a second later, and his voice drops again as ducks his head. "Not with him."</p>
<p>Quentin suddenly feels like he's been thrown back weeks to the last time he overheard the two of them get anywhere close to arguing, like he's in bed with his shoulder burning, an accidental witness to words he's not meant to hear. This time, at least, he can move. He lets the discomfort draw him away from the stairwell - or maybe it's just that he can still feel Eliot's words scraping through him as they sink in, and he doesn't want to hear anything else that might hurt worse.</p>
<p>He slips back into his bedroom and closes the door as quietly as he can, and then just— stands there for a while, looking at his unmade bed and the starry sky out the window, trying to ignore the stinging feeling at the back of his throat. He waits there until his ears stop ringing and his lungs aren't prickling with every breath, and then a little longer, just in case.</p>
<p>When he's mostly sure the coast is clear, Quentin heads back to the railing to peer down to the empty main floor. It's darker than it was before, the warm kitchen lights turned off, and with no moonlight coming in through the windows, most of the house is cast in shadow. He moves carefully down the stairs, his steps seeming loud in the quiet stillness, almost like he's trespassing.</p>
<p>He checks the courtyard again, but can't see the others waiting there anymore. Margo and the rest must already be on their way to meet the coven. Eliot is still here, somewhere, probably downstairs, although Quentin isn't sure what there really is to do in the bar right now. Maybe he's planning a celebratory post-hunt breakfast - though that sort of seems more Josh's bag, and at the moment Quentin can't manage to get his hopes up. In any case, Eliot doesn't seem to be ready for the ritual yet, and honestly, that's just fine with Quentin.</p>
<p>He sits down on the couch with a shaky sigh, curling his knees up and crossing his ankles, and looks out into the dark again. Almost as soon as he tries to relax and let his thoughts drift, they come back full-force with echoes of what he overheard. Quentin already knew how Eliot felt about the bond, but to hear him sound so bitter, so... <i>sad</i> about it, instead of the wry mask he's used with Quentin before… it hurts in a different way, guilt simmering low in his stomach again.</p>
<p>He remembers Margo telling him - it feels like ages ago, now - that she didn't want Eliot to be in pain. At the time, Quentin thought she meant the Beast, or some other outside threat, but maybe she meant <i>him</i>. Maybe even then, she knew that Eliot wasn't happy.</p>
<p>Well, that's the point of this whole thing, isn't it? He'll do the ritual and give Eliot his life back, and then things will go back to normal. Eliot and Margo won't fight anymore, and he and Julia wont either - and hey, maybe at the end of it all, he and Eliot can be friends again. Maybe not right away, but. Eventually. </p>
<p>The thought isn't really as comforting as he wants it to be. Quentin pushes it away and tries to drift again, forcing out a long breath and curling up a little further in the corner of the couch. He pillows his head on his arms and closes his eyes, hoping to trick himself into relaxing properly, but he ends up hovering closer to sleep before long. He flits in and out, exhaustion pulling him down while the anxiety coiled in his chest keeps him from sinking fully. He blinks awake a few times, but without the moon to track light across the floor, he's not sure how much time is passing, or if it's passing at all.</p>
<p>Eventually a flare of light behind Quentin's eyelids sends a strange pitch of excitement through him, and he opens his eyes almost before his brain can catch up. It takes a second for him to realize the source is the firepit down in the courtyard, bright flickering flames lighting up the pitch dark easily.</p>
<p>It... throws him, somehow, even though he's not quite sure what he expected to find instead. All he knows is that the fire definitely wasn't it. The weird excitement contorts into disappointment before it fades entirely, but as Quentin remembers where he is and what the fire must mean, the anxiety twisting through him takes precedent anyway. Still, he makes himself stand up from the couch and slide the door open to go out to the balcony.</p>
<p>The night really has cooled off, though not quite enough to make him shiver. A light breeze rustles through the tree at the edge of the courtyard and makes the flames curl and flicker wildly against the surrounding buildings. Quentin peers over the railing and sees Eliot waiting below, facing the fire at first, but he turns around like he can feel Quentin's gaze on him. </p>
<p>He looks like he should be cold, in just a light shirt and open vest, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows - though Quentin can only really focus on that until their eyes lock. His pulse seems loud all of a sudden, his heart threatening to tip over again just from <i>looking</i>, before Quentin remembers what Eliot said the last time they were alone together, and then it just aches a bit with each beat. Eliot smiles at him though, just a little, and he tries his best to return it.</p>
<p>"Hey," Eliot greets, unfairly soft. "You ready?"</p>
<p>Quentin isn't, not really. But he nods and goes down the balcony stairs anyway to join Eliot in the empty courtyard.</p>
<p>Compared to the roomful of candles and swirling smoke he remembers from the bonding ritual, there's not much laid out for the reverse aside from the crackling flames. Even for the pack initiation, they at least had the moon above them as another setpiece. As Eliot bends to grab something from the ground near the firepit, Quentin looks up at the dark sky again. It's a clear night, and seems almost starless in the glare from the fire. Part of him keeps expecting to see the moon shining down, even though he knows there's no clouds for it to be hiding behind, even though he can <i>feel</i> that it isn't going to look in their direction.</p>
<p>He's not sure it would be much consolation even if it did show up, though. Somehow it feels… poetic, maybe, in a really sad and shitty way, that they have to do this on the one night the moon isn't there to offer any comfort. What happens while the moon is gone seemed to come up a lot in the legends, too - both of the ones Eliot told him, <i>The Witch and the Wolf</i> and even the one about the first ever werewolf. Quentin remembers Eliot telling him, here in the courtyard, how his other pack used to hold vigil that way, waiting up all night for the moon they knew wouldn't come out. He remembers Eliot's voice, quiet so the others wouldn't overhear, another story only for Quentin— but he catches himself before he can go too far into that memory.</p>
<p>He looks down and tries to focus on the harsh light of the fire across the grass instead, specifically <i>not</i> thinking of the soft sunrise he once watched sparkle there. "What time is it?" he asks, more to make sure his voice will work than anything - it comes out quiet, but not as weak or wavering as it had been earlier.</p>
<p>"Past three," Eliot replies as he straightens up, glancing at the sky. "Maybe closer to four, now. The fire didn't want to cooperate." He gives Quentin another half-smile for a moment, and Quentin isn't sure if he really manages to return it.</p>
<p>If it's that late already, the witches' spell must be underway. He wonders how the others are doing. Do they already know where the Beast is, or are they still looking? Did the casting even work? But then Eliot is beckoning him over, and Quentin remembers he has other things to worry about.</p>
<p>He makes himself move closer, standing before the fire with Eliot across from him, only a couple steps away. The flickering light and warmth reminds him of the pack initiation again - he definitely has about the same amount of dread and apprehension, this time around. Maybe more.</p>
<p>Quentin swallows hard. "So, how do we... do this?"</p>
<p>With a short glance at him, Eliot takes a breath. "The way Julia and I figured it out, we just have to undo what we did the first time. Put things back where they belong." That sends a weak pang through Quentin's chest, but he does his best to steel himself against it. "So, step one—" Eliot holds out the item he picked up, a small sharp paring knife. "The physical link."</p>
<p>That's what they started with last time, drawing blood from each of their hands. While Quentin didn't really think about the specifics when Julia first mentioned giving back what was taken, he supposes whatever blood they mixed while their palms were pressed together counts, even if it doesn't sound particularly pleasant to undo. The knife makes him a little nervous, but it makes sense - neither of them have fangs to make the cut this time.</p>
<p>Still, Eliot notices his hesitation in reaching out for it, and moves half a step closer to take Quentin's outstretched hand instead, turning it over. Quentin feels a split second of tingling warmth from the gentle touch before it's replaced by a burst of pain as Eliot draws the tip of the blade across his palm. He bites his lip hard, breathing through the sharp sting, willing himself not to make a sound. He curls his hand into a fist as soon as Eliot lets go, pressing over the throbbing cut, and tries not to think about matching scars as Eliot slices his own palm with a wince.</p>
<p>"Okay, hold it up," he instructs, voice just a little tight as he tosses the knife down. He extends his bleeding hand, palm up like an offering, and Quentin does the same, lifting his hand to hover next to Eliot's and painfully uncurling his fingers.</p>
<p>He can't help imagining, just for a moment, Eliot reaching over to press the two cuts together like last time. Of course neither of them move, but it's an almost soothing thought. Quentin doesn't remember it hurting this much before, sharply throbbing in time with his pulse, the sting travelling up his wrist. He knows something about Eliot's touch made it stop - but that's not an option this time, not the point of the ritual.</p>
<p>Quentin watches the blood pool in his palm and leak out between his fingers, feels it drip off the back of his hand. It looks black in the grass, even with the firelight reflecting off the wet drops. At least it doesn't look quite as gruesome as it probably did when Julia first led him into the courtyard, weeks and weeks ago, and he collapsed, gasping and bleeding - although he didn't really see the full extent of the mess that time before Eliot carried him inside. </p>
<p>He shoves that thought away to the back of his mind with all the other memories that keep bubbling up, focusing back on the pain in his hand instead of the ache deep in his chest. They've already started, he can't let himself get sidetracked now. If he can just concentrate on this for long enough to get it done, then they'll be on their way to meet up with the others, and once they're out hunting— well, at least Quentin will have something to distract him from how miserable he is.</p>
<p>"What now?" he asks, glancing up at Eliot. He knows what the next step was last time, but pressing closer now seems counterintuitive - and besides, Julia said the ritual would be unpleasant. Quentin somehow doesn't think cutting his palm open is going to be the worst of it.</p>
<p>Eliot takes another quiet breath and lets it out. "Now, we disconnect."</p>
<p>He makes it sound simple, objective, but Quentin doesn't remember it being like that when they were bonding. They didn't have directions, it was just— instinct. He felt Eliot standing on the other side of a barrier, and wanted, <i>needed</i> to push through it, to get as close to him as he could. How do they undo that?</p>
<p>"This is the hard part," Eliot says, an almost careful look on his face, like he can sense Quentin's confusion. "It's more about pulling away than working backwards, if that helps."</p>
<p>It doesn't, but Quentin nods anyway. He tries to imagine sealing up the gap between them, closing off the spaces where Eliot's mood usually seeps in. It's difficult when he can only really feel the edges of his own mind, but he can still remember what Eliot felt like, can't he?</p>
<p>"Okay," he sighs, steeling himself again. "So, like, at the same time, or…?"</p>
<p>"No, I'll do it," Eliot says quietly. "I've done this before, I know how it works."</p>
<p>Quentin furrows his brow. "You mean when you left your other pack? Isn't a pack bond different than this?"</p>
<p>"Disconnecting should be the same," Eliot assures him, lips quirking in a wry smile. "You just pull until it breaks."</p>
<p>"So we should both try," Quentin presses, frowning at him. "You'll hurt yourself if you do it alone."</p>
<p>"And so will you," Eliot insists. "At least I know what to tug on."</p>
<p>Quentin shakes his head, setting his jaw stubbornly. "No, I should do it. You've already had to feel that once."</p>
<p>Eliot gives him an exasperated look. "It's going to hurt either way, Quentin. It's better that it's me than—"</p>
<p>He cuts off as the sudden, sharp creak of the courtyard gate reaches them on the breeze. It's not even that loud above the rustle of leaves or snap of the fire beside them, just so unexpected that it makes them both pause. Quentin looks across the yard to the mouth of the alley, shrouded in shadow where the firelight doesn't reach.</p>
<p>Could it be Margo and the others returning already? But it's still dark out, and if the casting is over, they should be gathering with the other packs, readying for the hunt. Maybe it's Julia, back to offer moral support after all. Quentin is about to call out when Eliot grips his arm hard and tugs him back a step. Startled, Quentin turns to give him a questioning look, confused by the tension in his expression - and that's when he hears the whistling.</p>
<p>A lone figure steps out of the shadows and into the flickering edges of the firelight, moving across the brick path at an unhurried, almost leisurely pace. Quentin squints as whoever it is comes closer, but with his weakened vision he can't distinguish much. Maybe it's one of the wolves from another pack - but why would they be here?</p>
<p>As they come further into the light, Quentin can see the stranger's hands are clasped behind their back, and that, weirdly, they're wearing a sleek grey suit. He's pretty sure he would've remembered if any of the wolves at the meeting were dressed like that. He can't raise his hackles, but the way the figure is advancing so casually definitely puts him on edge.</p>
<p>The whistling is almost more unsettling once it stops. The stranger pauses at the edge of the grass, still a good distance from the fire, but close enough for Quentin to make out silver hair, a beard and mustache— and an amused smile that spreads, wide and chilling, when Eliot pulls Quentin back another step.</p>
<p>"You seem surprised to see me," the stranger says, his voice lofty but familiar in a way that sends an icy shudder down Quentin's spine. Breath locked in his throat, he finds himself frozen in place, his mind filling with terrified static as Eliot's grip tightens.</p>
<p>"I'm almost insulted," the Beast drawls, his eyes flashing blue in the dark. "I did say I'd be back for you."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>folks. we finally have the total chapter count. thank you for sticking with us this far. now lets earn that canon-typical violence tag</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow even without fur or fangs, without the dripping snarl or rumbling growl echoing out of the dark, the Beast still seems inhuman, an obvious predator in their midst. It's the cold, almost hungry gaze that Quentin has been pinned under too often, the slow movements he knows could give way to a sharp snap of teeth at any second. Quentin wonders how often the Beast takes this form, when the monstrous wolf seems more like his real face, his true shape. He wonders if the smell of blood still lingers.</p><p>Eliot keeps his hand on Quentin's arm, having drawn him back far enough that Quentin could press against him if he wasn't petrified. He can feel the bruising grip of Eliot's fingers, at least, and tries to focus on that instead of the wild beat of his pulse hammering in his throat.</p><p>"This is a private event, actually," Eliot calls, managing to sound more annoyed than frantic or scared.</p><p>The Beast glances around the courtyard with a playful frown. "Well, I never can help myself when it comes to gatecrashing," he says easily, and turns to take a few casual steps along the edge of the grass, his hands still clasped behind his back. "I've been debating when would be the best time to drop in, but the fresh blood on the wind compelled me." </p><p>Quentin clenches his injured hand into a fist over the stinging slit in his palm, but he can still feel it dripping. He hardly dares to blink as he tracks the Beast's slow pacing along the path.</p><p>"This isn't quite the entrance I was planning on, but I suppose we'll have to make do," the Beast sighs, then turns on his heel and strides back the other way, swinging his hands to straighten out his sleeves. "Tonight is as good a night as any to settle things, after all, even in this inferior form."</p><p>"Maybe not the best for your signature move," Eliot says wryly, his voice coming out a little stiff. "I heard you have a thing for using your teeth."</p><p>The Beast looks back at them with a smile that makes Quentin want to flinch. "I won't need to bite to claim what I'm owed."</p><p>He takes a single step off the brick path into the yard and Eliot immediately releases a growl, the quiet rumble building in his chest. Quentin wishes he could do the same, but his throat is too tight - he can barely breathe, let alone make any sort of threatening noise. Eliot's reverberation rolls through him instead, loosening some of the tension between his ribs, but not enough.</p><p>The Beast doesn't seem phased at all, tugging at his shirt cuffs as he takes another leisurely step onto the grass. Eliot steps backwards just as far, pulling Quentin with him past the firepit to keep the distance equal, but the Beast doesn't look too bothered by that, either.</p><p>"Your runes were an interesting deterrent," he says lightly, sounding almost impressed. "Smart use of the headstart I gave you, finding spells to hide behind. Your trail wasn't quite cold when I arrived, though - magic, I've learned, has a very distinct scent, if you know what to look for."</p><p>His strides are still slow and steady, his voice relaxed - the perfect picture of casual conversation except for the way his eyes remain locked on Quentin, completely unconcerned with Eliot's presence next to him. "And as luck would have it, I met a lovely trio of witches only a few weeks ago who were really <i>very</i> helpful about how to disarm all sorts of runes."</p><p>Quentin's stomach twists. So the witches he and Julia found at the warehouse really were just in the wrong place at the wrong time - but that interrogation wasn't in order to learn their whereabouts directly. Did the Beast even know about Haven at that point? Or just that the wolves he was hunting were somewhere behind a set of runes he'd need to break through? </p><p>The Beast's smile grows into a delighted grin as he stares, unblinking, like he knows exactly what Quentin is thinking, like he can sense the dread dripping down his spine. "And then," he says, relishing each word, "of course, what a pleasant surprise when you and your friend showed up. Unfortunate that we couldn't tie up all our loose ends before we were interrupted, but it still would've been a very long and tedious search without your help, dear Quentin."</p><p>With another growl, Eliot tries to tug him back a step further, but Quentin resists. Even as the idea that he and Julia led the Beast right to their own door twists painfully in his chest, confusion outweighs the despair for a split second. "How do you know my name?" he manages to ask, somehow less shaky than he expects.</p><p>"I don't usually bother with them," the Beast admits, shrugging as he takes another step. "But I happened to hear yours while that girl was calling for you. I'm not sure if you remember, you were in rough shape by that time." Quentin holds his ground, even with watery knees and Eliot's deathgrip on his arm, even with the Beast's eyes still boring into him. "And yet, here you are."</p><p>The Beast pauses then, frowning curiously before he looks away from Quentin to rove over the outside wall of Haven beyond the firepit. "And I suppose she is too, somewhere around your hideaway?" he asks innocently. "I owe her a little something for that stunt with the bookcase."</p><p>Quentin's pulse jumps again, but with more anger than fright this time. It's easier to think without the Beast's icy stare holding him down, easier to let the flare of protectiveness drive everything else out. "She's not here."</p><p>"Pity," the Beast sighs, taking one last look up at the house before settling his gaze back on Quentin - but it's not quite as paralyzing now that he can breathe again. "Well, it was your blood, not hers, that led me here, I suppose. And I can always make a second trip." He gives Quentin another smile, simpering now. "Honestly, I was glad to see you two had been adopted. Much more fun. Where is your new alpha? The she-wolf?"</p><p>Quentin hesitates, jaw clenched. If the Beast has been waiting for an opening, then he might already know about the plan with the coven, the spell, the hunt… but if he really thought Julia and Margo were here tonight, then maybe he didn't see them leave.</p><p>Either way, Quentin doesn't have time to come up with a convincing lie before Eliot moves forward, adjusting his grip on Quentin's arm to keep him back. "Sorry, but you're zero for two," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "She's out for the night."</p><p>The Beast's eyes shift over to Eliot, his gaze cold and dull. "Is she really? What could drive your alpha to leave her den unattended?"</p><p>"Well, there's this asshole out-of-towner who's been giving us some trouble," Eliot tosses back. "Maybe you've heard of him."</p><p>"What are you doing?" Quentin hisses, grabbing at Eliot's sleeve with his injured hand, too wary of the Beast's eyes flashing to care about the bloody print he's leaving on the fabric. They're in dire enough straits as it is without putting the Beast in a bad mood - and seeing that look directed at Eliot doesn't do much for the panic trilling in Quentin's chest.</p><p>"I'm not here for you," the Beast says slowly, dipping close to the growl Quentin remembers the icy chill of. "Or for your pack, though I would love to teach the she-wolf a lesson. This particular score has gone unsettled for much longer than I'd like." A ghost of his grin returns as his gaze slides back to Quentin. "I'll be on my way after I claim this pup like I should have done the night we met."</p><p>Before Quentin can do much more than shiver, Eliot pulls away to step in front of him, breaking the Beast's line of sight as he puts himself between them. "That's not how this works."</p><p>"Alright, the hard way, then," the Beast sighs loftily. "If you insist."</p><p>Uneasy without a clear view of the danger, Quentin tries to move up to Eliot's side again, but Eliot puts out his arm to keep him back, his bloody palm hovering. Quentin just has time to huff at his shoulder before the Beast takes another step to come back into his sights, and meeting the cold, unblinking gaze takes all his focus again. The Beast starts to track a wide, unhurried arc around the firepit, still keeping his distance. As Quentin pivots to keep him in view, he can't shake the alarmingly familiar feeling that he's being toyed with.</p><p>"I must admit, Quentin," the Beast drawls, sounding almost bored, "I thought you'd be better protected. No alpha around, and just one guard dog?" Eliot lets out another low growl, but the Beast barely glances at him, keeping his eyes on Quentin for every slow step. "Where is the cavalry that came to your rescue last time? Why were you left all alone, on this night of all nights?" He tilts his head, almost playful. "Perhaps this pack doesn't want their bad luck charm either."</p><p>Quentin can feel the heat of the fire at his back when the Beast finally comes to a stop. Eliot is still half a step ahead with his arm held out as a barrier, but Quentin is less worried about that now, and more acutely aware that if the Beast comes any closer, he and Eliot can no longer back up.</p><p>Eliot seems to come to the same realization, his eyes flickering to Quentin for a split second. "Get inside."</p><p>"What?" Quentin tears his gaze away from the Beast to give him an indignant look, but Eliot is already honed back in on the threat before them. "No, Eliot, I'm not leaving—"</p><p>The Beast suddenly moves in his periphery, and Quentin cuts off to jerk backwards, startled fright locking his breath in his throat - but the Beast has only taken another single step, he's just no longer bothering to make his movements slow and docile. He seems to find Quentin's hard flinch amusing though, chuckling when Eliot reaches out to keep him from tripping into the firepit. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath through his nose.</p><p>"Your scent has changed," he hums, as Quentin resists the urge to recoil further. "Fear, naturally, and blood… but what else?" His eyes flash blue again when they snap open, and they linger on the steadying hand Eliot has lain on Quentin's arm. Quentin's stomach twists as realization crosses the Beast's face, and even more at the slow smile that spreads in its wake. "Ah," he says softly.</p><p>Eliot catches on a second later and drops his hand, but Quentin can tell without looking that Eliot's bloody palm has left an imprint on his sleeve like a brand. He doesn't have to take a breath to know that Eliot's scent is marking him the same way.</p><p>"That explains the private party, I suppose," the Beast sighs, looking between them with a smile. "Just delightful. Although— Eliot, was it?" He meets Eliot's glare dauntlessly. "Please accept my apologies in advance for this. Losing your mate is a severely painful experience, as far as I've heard."</p><p>He lifts his hands and Quentin feels fresh terror surge through him as sharp claws split the Beast's fingertips, glinting razor sharp in the firelight. "The other pairs I've handled over the years always make it sound agonizing."</p><p>Eliot stands his ground, still half in front of Quentin with his fists clenched tightly, even as blood drips off the knuckles of one hand. "You'll die trying," he snarls.</p><p>The constrained ferocity in his voice drives a spike of fear into Quentin, but at the same time it rumbles through him almost the same way Eliot's growl did, loosening the tight cords of panic wound through his ribs.</p><p>The Beast, however, seems completely unfazed by his threat. "I have no problem putting you out of your misery," he says, and when he smiles, Quentin can see the tips of fangs protruding. "I must warn you, though— I do so like complete sets. If you choose to get in my way, the rest of your pack is as good as dead right along with you."</p><p>Quentin's heart drops as he tries to blink away unbidden images of the wolves he once knew, strewn broken and bloody across the forest floor. The Beast is completely focused on Eliot now, still with a playful air to his words that does nothing to hide the almost palpable danger underneath.</p><p>"Think carefully," he hums, waggling a clawed finger. "Is this one wolf worth it? Worth your life and all of theirs?"</p><p>Eliot doesn't react beyond clenching his jaw even tighter, but the Beast looks pleased, as if he said something amusing. "You know, I'm feeling generous," he announces. "Allow me to sweeten the deal, if I may - leave now, and I will <i>only</i> claim Quentin."</p><p>"Not happening," Eliot barks. Fear flares through Quentin again as the Beast narrows his eyes at the interruption.</p><p>"Let me finish," he says sharply, burning blue betraying the annoyance under his controlled mask for a split second before his tone lifts back to playful loftiness. "I claim Quentin, and you and your pack will be left alone. Even your alpha. And why not - even the other wolf that escaped me, the girl."</p><p>The Beast smiles again, eyebrows raised expectantly as he glances between them. "Mates or not, that's a fair offer, isn't it? Guaranteed safety for your pack, and all it costs is one stray pup." He lets the words hang in the air for a few seconds before he waves one clawed hand at Eliot in a shooing motion. "Now, run along."</p><p>Eliot doesn't even twitch. "I'm staying right here."</p><p>"Eliot, wait," Quentin forces out. The bloody snapshots the Beast's words bring up keep pushing at him, and sick horror rises from the pit of his stomach as the memory warps— Margo torn up instead of Corrigan, Kady and Penny bleeding in the grass, Alice and Josh and <i>Julia—</i> </p><p>He swallows past nauseated panic and reaches out for Eliot's sleeve again. "He has a point. The others—"</p><p>"No," Eliot growls over him, jerking his arm away without taking his eyes off the Beast's fanged smirk. "No stupid sacrifices, Quentin. It's not worth it."</p><p>"It's not worth dooming everyone else, either," Quentin presses, his heart in his throat as he glares at Eliot's rigid profile. "Just listen to me, I can—"</p><p>"We're not talking about this," Eliot snaps, finally turning to face him. But it's not the fierce edge in his tone that makes Quentin startle - it's how desperate Eliot looks, even mid-snarl, even with the fire caught in his eyes making it seem like they're burning gold.</p><p>"I'm not letting you get hurt," he says, his bright gaze unwavering. "I couldn't protect you before. I won't let that happen again."</p><p>Quentin is so stricken he almost doesn't notice the fire rearing up high behind them, the light painting rays over Eliot's shoulder, down the rigid line of his arm— but it's not the glinting red of the fire shining out from Eliot's edges, Quentin realizes, watching the flickering flames curl across his face. It's just— <i>Eliot</i>, somehow, his outline glowing like the sun is about to rise behind him.</p><p>"Eliot," Quentin says breathlessly, then flounders, blinking hard in an attempt to clear the shimmering rays from his vision. Concern and confusion quickly replace Eliot's anger as his eyes search Quentin's face, and then something else flits across his expression, and he lifts his hand almost hesitantly—</p><p>Quentin catches movement at the edge of his vision a split second too late, and just has time to shove Eliot away before the Beast lunges between them. He stumbles back out of the way of the swiping claws, but the Beast whirls on him immediately, eyes searing blue even in the firelight. Terror sparks through Quentin as the Beast raises his hand with a snarl, claws outstretched for another strike.</p><p>He tenses to evade just as Eliot rushes the Beast from behind, grabbing his arm before the claws can come down. The Beast wrenches away and twists around to slash at Eliot instead, just barely missing his shirt buttons. Quentin gives himself one single frantic moment to long for the itch of rising hackles, for the prickle of his fangs sliding out. Without the moon overhead, he and Eliot are effectively unarmed, even if the Beast has somehow retained his sharpest edges. Quentin can't really bring himself to be surprised about that - though he does remember the sting of the knife cutting into his palm in place of Eliot's fang, and darts to the fireside to snatch up the short blade.</p><p>When he turns back to the fight, the Beast is making another grab for Eliot, and this time the blow catches his shoulder, throwing Eliot off-balance as he stumbles back. He evades the next swipe, but can't recover in time to get out of the way when the Beast lunges at him. Snatching Eliot's collar, the Beast yanks him close and then thrusts his claws into Eliot's chest, digging in below his sternum.</p><p>Quentin chokes on his breath as Eliot cries out, grimacing in pain and trying, uselessly, to wrench himself free. The Beast holds tight and grins as he pushes his claws deeper, seeming to relish Eliot's pained gasps. Blood blooms quickly across the front of his shirt, seeping through the fabric like inkblots. The sight floods Quentin's mind with panicked static.</p><p>Almost without thinking, he lunges forward with the knife raised and drives it into the Beast's back, sinking it as deep as he can manage before he has to dive out of the way of swinging claws. The Beast lets out a mangled yell and drops Eliot to twist around, trying and failing to grasp the short handle to pull the knife out. Quentin dodges around him and hurries to where Eliot has fallen on his knees.</p><p>Blood is still spreading under the palm he has pressed tight over his wound, but he's struggling to straighten up and only groans a little when Quentin wraps an arm around his shoulders to pull him to his feet. Haven's back door isn't far, and Quentin hauls Eliot across the grass as quickly as he can manage while trying to be careful of the gouges in his chest. He panics when his fingers are too slippery with blood to turn the door handle, but Eliot's hand closes on his, and together they manage to get it open.</p><p>Eliot pulls away once they cross the threshold so Quentin can slam and lock the door behind them, expecting the Beast to hurl himself against it at any moment - but the impact never comes. Heart hammering loudly in the sudden quiet, Quentin peers out the closest window back into the courtyard. All he can see is the fire still burning, the flickering shapes projected on the far buildings, and the shadows in the corners of the yard. The Beast is nowhere in sight.</p><p>For the time being, at least, they should be safe inside. Quentin turns away from the window to join Eliot where he's propped himself up against a nearby booth, knuckles white on the table's edge. "Jesus, El, are you—"</p><p>"I'm fine," Eliot grits out. He sucks in a pained breath through his teeth as he peels his hand away from the bloody tears in his shirt. Quentin can barely look at the deep claw marks underneath, his stomach turning over at the sight of the blood quickly welling up again in the gouges. "Where is he?"</p><p>"I-I don't know," Quentin manages, shaking his head numbly. "I couldn't see him, it's too dark, and without the moon I can't get his scent." He's not sure he could pick it up even if his senses were at full strength, considering all the blood soaked into Eliot's shirt, but he doesn't think saying that will help much. "How is he still able to attack like this?" he asks instead, glancing warily at the windows again. "It's like he's not even affected by the moon. I mean, I don't think he can shift, but he's still—"</p><p>"Unpleasantly sharp, yeah." Eliot winces as he takes a breath. "Maybe he got more than just counterspells from the witches, or maybe there really was something to his whole alpha-killing spree after all. Either way, I guess it would've been a nasty surprise once we got the hunt goi—<i>ngh</i>." He cuts off to grit his teeth again, pressing his hand back over the claw marks.</p><p>For a few seconds, he looks close to doubling over with pain. Quentin reaches out but isn't sure where to touch, afraid of making him hurt worse. He settles for hovering his palm over Eliot's rigid shoulder, watching carefully until his jaw unclenches and he starts to breathe again. "Come on," Eliot grunts, pushing off from the table. His free hand grasps for Quentin's arm instead, though Quentin isn't sure if he means to drag him along or steady himself. "Let's get away from the door."</p><p>They hurry across the bar and around the corner to the front, Eliot managing to keep himself upright most of the way. Quentin leads him the last few shaky steps to the counter and makes sure he's braced against it before he slips away past a few stools to reach over the bartop. He feels around in the space underneath for a towel or rag, anything to soak up some of the blood leaking through Eliot's fingers. He catches the edge of a dishcloth and returns to Eliot's side, willing his hands not to shake as he holds it out. "Here, let me…"</p><p>Eliot grimaces as he uncovers the claw marks again, and Quentin quickly presses the cloth over the wound, trying to be gentle - until he remembers how much pressure Josh had put on his shoulder after he was bitten. When he pushes harder, Eliot lets out a breath like he's been punched.</p><p>"Sorry, sorry," Quentin whispers, groping around for Eliot's hand and lifting it to the cloth so he can hold it himself. "Just— press hard, okay?"</p><p>"Uh-huh," Eliot manages, voice tight. Gripping the edge of the counter, he slowly lowers himself down to sit on the floor, wincing the whole way. "Don't mind me," he says stiffly, tipping his head back against the wood and closing his eyes. "I just need a second."</p><p>Quentin glances around the corner before crouching next to him, trying not to stare at the red already seeping through the cloth. He doesn't know what to do with his hands - one is still covered in his own blood, throbbing faintly under a weird mix of sick fear and adrenaline, and both are less steady than he'd like. He wants to reach out to Eliot, but he's not sure where to touch, or how soothing his trembling fingers would be.</p><p>Eliot seems to be breathing a little easier now, at least, but even with his eyes shut his expression is tense and pained. If Margo were here, she would be able to tell exactly how he's feeling, exactly what he needs, probably even without her diagnostic touch. Quentin feels useless in comparison. This is the one situation where their mate bond would have actually been useful, where he could've helped Eliot heal, or taken some of his pain or— <i>something</i>. But while the moon is turned away, Quentin can't feel any trace of it, no matter how hard he tries to push past the boundary of his own mind. The Beast could use his claws regardless of the moon. Why can't Quentin make this one thing work?</p><p>"We can't stay here," Eliot says quietly, drawing Quentin out of his racing thoughts. "If it's just us, we don't have a chance. We have to get you out while we still can."</p><p>"What about the others?" Quentin asks, watching warily as Eliot carefully removes the cloth and gives it a disdainful look. "If they've done the spell already, we just have to wait for sunrise, right?"</p><p>"The runes on the doors won't last that long," Eliot points out, letting out a breath. "If the Beast could get past the gate, it's only a matter of time." After a second of dismayed silence, he looks up at Quentin, gravely determined. "You can still get away from here. Go out the front, I don't think he'll come around to the street."</p><p>Swallowing hard, Quentin makes himself nod. No matter how dire the threat, the thought of running from Haven still stings. "What about you?"</p><p>Eliot looks away, shaking his head. "Don't worry about that."</p><p>Quentin stares at him, incredulous at first and then indignant as his meaning sinks in. "What the fuck, Eliot? I'm not leaving you here."</p><p>"You have to," Eliot says firmly, tossing the cloth away. "I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not really at peak performance right now. Without a distraction, we can't both make a run for it, but I can give you a shot."</p><p>Clenching his fists on his knees, Quentin takes a breath to protest, but Eliot cuts him off with a hard look. "No, listen. This is it. You can get to the others. The rendezvous is outside the warehouse, you know how to get there." He softens then, and lifts his less-bloody hand to slide over Quentin's injured one, gently uncurling his fist. "Please, Quentin," he begs, just above a whisper. "Go. Let me do this."</p><p>Quentin holds his gaze, his eyes drawn to Eliot's despite the raw ache in his throat seeping down toward his heart. He's heard Eliot say those words before, the last time he was desperate enough to save Quentin's life that he was willing to do anything, no matter how dangerous or unlikely to work, no matter how much it cost him. Whatever it took to keep Quentin within his sights.</p><p>But now Eliot is asking him to turn away, and Quentin can't do it. He won't let himself, not now, not when he still hasn't told Eliot how it feels to look back.</p><p>"No," Quentin says, and pulls his hand away to stand up. "I'm not going anywhere."</p><p>Eliot is shocked for a split second before his expression crumples into something more frantic. He suddenly looks dangerously close to pushing himself to his feet, still-bleeding chest wound be damned. "Quentin, you can't—"</p><p>"I'm done running," Quentin huffs, new determination surging through him and clearing out the last prickles of panic. "Whatever happens, I'm not going to just— give up and leave."</p><p>He belongs here, after all, in this place, with his pack. As he looks down at Eliot, something fierce rises in his chest. "I'm not going to let anything take me from here," he says, voice unwavering. "Or from you. Not without a fight."</p><p>Eliot seems caught between multiple reactions, staring up at him with his mouth half-open to argue even while his brows draw together. "Q, wait."</p><p>"I've made up my mind," Quentin says over him, too fired up now to waste any more time bickering. He looks around for the bar, running through their options. "Margo has wolfsbane, right? Where does she keep it? That could be our distraction, or— or we'll use it to keep the Beast out until the others get here."</p><p>He remembers Margo saying it might not have much of an effect, but maybe while the Beast is at least a little weaker than usual, they'll have better odds. Anything is better than giving up. Any chance they have, any chance that Quentin could keep what he has here, he has to take it. He has to try. "It only has to work for— what, a couple hours, at most? Unless you can think of something better, but we have to—"</p><p>"Q." Eliot's brow is still furrowed when Quentin looks back at him, but his expression isn't angry. It's almost... <i>awed</i>, as he gazes up at Quentin with something like wonder. "How are you doing that?"</p><p>Confused, Quentin glances around again, but nothing seems different. "Doing what?"</p><p>"I thought it was just the fire," Eliot murmurs, "but you're… it's like you're glowing." He reaches out and Quentin lets his hand be drawn in unthinkingly, even as puzzled as he is by Eliot's words. Maybe when their fingers connect he'll understand.</p><p>A heavy crack of impact and splintering wood makes his pulse skip, and he and Eliot both turn toward the sound. The back door is still out of view, hidden around the corner of the bar, but the faint crackle of the fire outside and the slow footsteps starting across the hardwood make clear that their time is up. The Beast has finally joined them.</p><p>"Hide and seek, is it?" he calls, the amusement in his voice sending a chill down Quentin's spine. Whatever exertion it took to break the runes and kick the door open was apparently not much of a problem. "You know there's no use. You're only prolonging the inevitable."</p><p>Another slow step, almost echoing in the quiet of the bar. Quentin pictures the Beast hovering by their private table, or maybe taking a deep breath to scent the blood in the air - even without Eliot's wound practically leaving a trail, the matching cuts on their hands are just as much of a beacon. Hiding won't do much good while the Beast can still smell them.</p><p>"My offer is about to expire," the Beast hums into the dark. The floor creaks. "Going once."</p><p>Quentin takes a breath and forces his limbs to move, grabbing Eliot's outstretched hand to tug him to his feet. Eliot visibly bites back a pained noise as he straightens up, but manages to hurry along with him to the other end of the counter.</p><p>"Wolfsbane is up in the loft," he whispers, motioning toward the hall alcove and the stairs beyond. "Top drawer of the vanity. You know what to look for?"</p><p>Nodding, Quentin thinks of the small dried flower Margo had brought them for the bonding ritual - hopefully she has a lot more where that came from. He can still hear the Beast advancing slowly, sure to come around the corner behind them any second now. The loft seems ages away compared to the approaching footsteps, but it's their best shot.</p><p>"Good." Eliot slips out of his grasp at the edge of the bar and pushes him forward. "Go, I'm right behind you."</p><p>Quentin goes, letting momentum carry him the final length to the mouth of the hallway, but he can't help pausing on the threshold to glance back over his shoulder. Eliot has doubled back to lean over the counter like Quentin had, wincing as he reaches for something underneath. Quentin can't imagine why he'd waste time grabbing another rag down here when they can find one upstairs, but his urgings to hurry catch in his throat.</p><p>A new spike of fear sinks into him as he watches the Beast finally round the corner, eyes burning blue. Quentin feels his heart hammering, his legs screaming at him to move. The stairs are only a few steps away— but so is Eliot. He barely needs to think it before he finds himself turning away from the hall to hurry back to him.</p><p>"Going twice," the Beast drawls, cold gaze settled on Eliot. He takes an almost teasing step closer, running one claw along the edge of the counter.</p><p>Eliot has seen him coming now, but he doesn't move - he's still reaching over the bartop and the Beast is closing in, tauntingly slow, but Quentin still isn't going to get to Eliot in time—</p><p>The Beast abruptly lunges forward, and Eliot draws out a wine bottle from below the bar, holding it by the neck as he pushes off the counter and brings it down hard across the Beast's temple. The bottle shatters, glass and wine exploding out as the Beast's head snaps to one side. He staggers sideways out of his interrupted pounce, grunting in pain. The swing throws Eliot off balance too, but Quentin catches his arm before he can fall.</p><p>He tugs Eliot back while the Beast is shaking himself off, pulling him away from the counter to the far side of the room. It puts the row of tables across from the bar between them and the Beast - which isn't much of an obstacle, but at least it's something. Quentin knows that once they turn the corner it's a straight shot back out to the courtyard, and from there they'll still have a chance to get upstairs through the balcony. Eliot seems to catch on quickly, and together they hurry back the way they came, past the Beast and the spray of broken glass on the floor.</p><p>Quentin hears the Beast growling after only a few steps, but doesn't look back until he and Eliot are skidding around the corner, and even then he regrets it. The Beast is already much closer than he expects, shoving tables and chairs aside with swipes of his claws as he tears after them. His face is contorted in a snarl, dripping blood and wine and growling loud enough now for Quentin to feel it shiver through him. He tightens his hold on Eliot's wrist and sprints the last few yards to the back door, almost glad for the splintered state of the handle that lets them burst through out into the firelight again.</p><p>His relief at making it outside is short-lived though, and he's barely turned toward the stairs when Eliot yanks him sideways to avoid the Beast charging out after them. He lunges past Quentin, claws raking through the air and just barely missing his hood. Quentin loses his grip on Eliot as they stumble back past the firepit, but Eliot grabs his hand when the Beast turns to face them again. To Quentin's dismay, the Beast's last swipe has put him directly in their path, blocking the way to the balcony.</p><p>Breathing hard, the Beast seems to take a moment to remember himself, then straightens up somewhat jerkily. He clears his throat as he smooths out his jacket, regaining some composure - though the splash of wine soaked into his collar and the blood running down from his temple don't help much.</p><p>"I should have expected that you'd test my patience, after all this," he sighs, the last of his growl just barely rumbling through the words. He lifts his chin and gives Eliot a level stare, almost like he's issuing a chiding rather than leering at prey. "Last chance. Give him up and save yourself."</p><p>Quentin feels Eliot's fingers tighten around his hand, only realizing when his palm throbs that Eliot's matching cut is pressed against his, warm and blood-sticky and stinging just a little with every beat of his racing pulse. "If you want him," Eliot says sharply, "you'll have to go through me."</p><p>For a moment, the Beast looks ready to snarl again, another flash of annoyance breaking through his mask before he collects himself. A second later he smiles, fangs glinting. "I was hoping you would say that."</p><p>He rushes at them without warning, claws raised to strike as he closes the distance in the time it takes Quentin to blink. Eliot drops his hand just as fast and is shoving Quentin back before he's even registered the loss of contact. Growling, he steps forward to meet the Beast head on, brandishing the broken neck of the wine bottle still clutched in his other hand.</p><p>The Beast dodges his first thrust and easily blocks the second, knocking Eliot's arm aside and slamming a fist into the bloody gouges in his chest. Eliot drops the glass with a choked-off groan and staggers back, but the Beast doesn't let him get far. He swings at Eliot while he's doubled over and hits him hard across the jaw, the impact sending him sprawling sideways into the grass.</p><p>Quentin watches him hit the ground and lurches forward, but the Beast whirls before he can get close enough to help, outstretched claws forcing him to back up. It gets the attention off Eliot, at least - Quentin manages one peripheral glance at him shakily pushing himself to his knees before focusing back on the sharp claws being brandished at him, and the grin spreading across the Beast's face.</p><p>Heart thudding in his ears, he takes another stumbling step back. The Beast follows, returning to his slow predatory movements as he pins Quentin with an almost hungry stare. "Do you have a preference for which of you I should put down first?" he asks, still not quite as steady or suave as he was earlier. "I can't promise I'll follow your wishes, but I'll take the opinion into account."</p><p>Quentin backs up another step, thinking quickly. He doesn't dare glance up at the balcony, but he starts to pivot, hoping the Beast will follow - and he does, stepping sideways to keep Quentin directly in his sights.</p><p>A few more paces and the Beast will have his back to the staircase. If Quentin can distract him for long enough, then maybe Eliot can get up to the balcony door unnoticed. He doesn't want to risk taking his eyes off the Beast to check on him again, so he'll just have to keep moving and hope that Eliot understands what he's doing - and that the Beast doesn't catch on. At least Quentin doesn't have to fake the trepidation in his steps.</p><p>"Come now, it's a simple question," the Beast taunts, scoffing. "Look, I'll give you an incentive." He drops one clawed hand to reach into his pocket and brings out the knife Quentin had sunk into his back. "Tell me your answer, and I'll return this to you." The short blade glints red as he twirls it in his fingers. "I'm not sure you'll fare much better with one claw as opposed to none at all, but you've surprised me before."</p><p>"Why are you doing this?" Quentin asks, trying to keep him talking as he takes another careful pivoting step. "Why go this far for two random wolves who got away from you? We're not alphas. You could've moved on."</p><p>"True," the Beast allows, twirling the knife again, "but when it comes to hunting, I hold myself to a high standard. I prefer to finish what I start, and it's not very sportsmanlike to let a wounded animal get away and die alone, rather than end its suffering quickly."</p><p>Quentin can't help bristling at that. "I'm not alone. And you're the one causing the suffering, not ending it."</p><p>The Beast smiles at him almost approvingly, then shrugs. "Fair enough," he sighs. "I suppose we've known each other long enough to speak plainly." He stops mirroring Quentin and instead starts to advance across the gap between them, his pace as leisurely as it was when he first stepped out into the firelight.</p><p>"I'm here because I want to be, dear Quentin. And as heartwarming as it is to see what you've managed to scavenge for yourself, you should have known none of it could save you." His smile widens enough to show the tips of his fangs. "Your life is owed to me."</p><p>"What about your pack?" Quentin blurts, grasping at straws. "Your alpha? What did they owe you?"</p><p>A shadow crosses the Beast's face, and he pauses a few steps away. "You shouldn't speak of things you don't understand," he says darkly, dipping into a growl again as he flexes his hand on the knife. "If you are really so curious about what it's like to be long dead and forgotten, you need only be patient."</p><p>Sudden movement over the Beast's shoulder catches Quentin's attention, and as strongly as every instinct is telling him to keep his eyes on the threat, the need to make sure Eliot is alright is stronger. He allows himself one single second to look - it <i>is</i> Eliot, on his feet again, a little unsteady and with one arm curled to his chest, but upright and heading for the stairs. He seems to have allowed himself the same single glance that Quentin has, and relief rises in Quentin for the brief moment that their eyes lock before much closer movement draws his gaze instead.</p><p>One single second is apparently all the Beast needs to take advantage, and by the time Quentin's brain catches up, he's already surged forward with the knife. He holds it low and drives the blade up in a slash that Quentin is sure is meant to gut him, sure it <i>will</i> if he doesn't somehow avoid it—</p><p>He doesn't have time to twist away or dive to one side, but he jerks backward, falling out of the way more than anything - except the abrupt lurch takes his balance with it, and then he really is falling, winding himself as he lands hard on his back. He scrambles up on his elbows to see the Beast poised before him, the knife raised high at the end of its upward slash. Before Quentin can do more than take a breath, the Beast rotates the handle in his fist, and with a fanged grin he brings the knife down, sinking the short blade into Quentin's thigh.</p><p>Quentin lets out a strangled yell, his entire body locking up as pain rips through his leg. He can see blood welling up quickly around the hilt of the knife, can feel it soaking through his jeans already, and he can't move— the blade might as well have pinned him to the ground for how every twitch of his torn muscle feels like a scrape of claws under his skin.</p><p>Teeth clenched, he manages to look up at the Beast again if only just to see the final blow coming - but the Beast is still grinning at him, panting a little as he gazes at his handiwork with satisfaction. "That's better," he says proudly. "If I knew that was all it took to get you to stay still, I would've—"</p><p>The rest of his gloating is cut off by a growl as Eliot appears behind him, hooking an arm around his neck and yanking him away from Quentin. Frozen in shock and pain, Quentin watches the Beast's face contort with rage as he twists around, swatting Eliot's arm away and lunging forward to grab him by the throat.</p><p>"Stupid dog," he spits. His arm remains steady even as Eliot struggles in his grip, clawing uselessly at the hand around his neck. Panic floods into Quentin's lungs as the Beast starts to lift Eliot up off his feet, watching him choke with cruel interest.</p><p>"No!" Quentin gasps, heaving himself up off his elbows. He tries to force his leg to bend and hold his weight, but every movement throbs sharply down to the very point of the knife sticking out of his thigh. With shaky fingers, he grips the handle and yanks the blade out, biting back another yelp. Removing it hurts almost as much as getting stabbed did, and he quickly drops the knife to clamp his hand over the new rush of blood spilling out of the wound.</p><p>Frantic tears burn behind Quentin's eyes, but he can still see the Beast's claws slowly digging into Eliot's throat, and Eliot's hands prying ineffectually at his fingers— "Stop, please," Quentin begs, struggling to keep his voice from dissolving into desperate sobs. "Let him go. I'm the one you want, not him. Please."</p><p>The Beast tilts his head a little, humming like he's considering it. He gazes dully at Eliot for another few seconds, contemplating his weakening struggles. "You're right," he says eventually, and unceremoniously releases his grip to let Eliot crumple to the ground.</p><p>Quentin doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until the sound of Eliot's guttural coughing and heaving finally allows his lungs to expand. The relief doesn't last long enough to bask in though, draining out of him as soon as the Beast turns away from Eliot to advance on him instead. "You should be first," he says, leering down at Quentin with a chilling smile. "We've both waited long enough."</p><p>Pushing past pain and fear, Quentin scrambles backwards as quickly as he can manage, dragging himself across the grass. The Beast trails after him, keeping up easily even at a teasingly slow pace.</p><p>"I almost wish more of my prey were as tenacious as you," he hums. "A good chase always makes the culmination that much more satisfying." With the fire behind him, his blue eyes burn in the dark, cold and predatory.</p><p>They've been here before, Quentin knows - watching this wolf stalk him is a feeling almost as familiar to him as Haven is, at this point. Shifted or not, the Beast still has the same grin full of teeth, the same red-tipped claws, the same scent of blood.</p><p>"You want to know about my pack?" he asks, pausing to let Quentin crawl a little further away before he takes another taunting step. "They took me in as their runt, and never let me forget it. That bond was a prison, and freeing myself was the first step in my becoming." He spreads his arms, lifting his chin in pride. "I relished tearing them apart. I knew my destiny then, and I know it still more clearly now."</p><p>"What kind of destiny tells you to kill people?" Quentin grits out, jaw clenching as he drags himself another few inches, his blood-soaked leg leaving a trail in the grass. "The other packs you hunted, none of them did anything to you."</p><p>The Beast sneers at him. "You prove your naivety, ignorant pup. These are all necessary casualties. Every drop of blood brings me closer to true freedom." He tips his head back and raises his clawed hands toward the sky. The pose reminds Quentin of how Margo had reached up to the moon during the initiation ritual, how her eyes had flared red with whatever power she invoked to bring him and Julia into the pack. But the moon isn't watching tonight, and Quentin doesn't think the Beast is trying to perform a real ritual anyway - at least not one for anyone but him.</p><p>"I have no bonds, no sire, nothing to hold me back from the power I am meant for," the Beast avows. "Soon I will be unbound from even the snare of the moon." Even with only the black sky above him to call upon, his eyes blaze when he lowers his head to stare down at Quentin again. "And this is what you're meant for, your destiny. To be my prey."</p><p>Fear rises in Quentin's throat, but he does his best to hold the Beast's gaze even as his leg throbs sharply enough to abort his next push backwards. The Beast lowers his arms and easily closes the distance between them, towering over him with a triumphant smirk as Quentin tenses in his shadow, pulse pounding in his ears.</p><p>"Your mate did have a point, though," the Beast murmurs, looking him over almost appraisingly. "I do prefer to bite. It would be slow going in this form, but you shouldn't mind that. You dragged this out, after all." Quentin watches the fangs grow in his mouth when he pulls his lips back to grin. "It's only fair that I return the—"</p><p>He breaks off with a grunt as something slams into his side, knocking him to the ground in a diving tumble of claws and blurry limbs. It takes Quentin a few startled seconds to realize the shape grappling the beast is Julia. She uses the momentum of her tackle to roll off the Beast before he starts swiping, but still ends up sprawled a few feet away.</p><p>The Beast recovers first, rising to his feet with a growl that quiets down when Julia starts to pick herself up and he gets a glimpse of her face. "Oh," he chuckles, glancing amusedly between her and Quentin. "How nice of you to join us. And you brought friends? Lovely." His smirk grows as he turns to look around the courtyard, and when he hears the approaching hurried footsteps, Quentin risks a glance too.</p><p>Hope and apprehension both tug sharply in his chest as Kady, Alice, Josh and Penny come rushing into the firelight. They move to surround the Beast while he watches, eyebrows raised like he finds the display entertaining more than anything. "Unfortunately, you are once again too late," he announces, carefully smoothing out his jacket where Julia's tackle rumpled it.</p><p>"I don't think so," Kady retorts, stopping near Quentin with her fists clenched at her sides. "Seems like we're right on time."</p><p>The Beast scoffs as the others spread out around him. "What chance could you possibly think you stand against me? Without the moon, you're nothing."</p><p>"Yeah, well," Josh huffs from the other side of the firepit. "You don't look so hot either."</p><p>Turning in a slow circle, the Beast surveys all the newcomers from the center of the ring they've formed. Quentin takes advantage of his distraction and finally lets his eyes find Eliot again, taking half a second to realize he's no longer slumped near the fire where the Beast dropped him, but crawling his way over to Quentin.</p><p>He's not coughing anymore, though there are red streaks of blood running down the sides of his throat from where the Beast's claws dug in, leading right into the dark, wet stain spread across his front. He has one hand pressed to the worst of it again, and Quentin can see blood leaking through his red-stained fingers. Using his other arm for balance, Eliot slowly drags himself on his knees across the grass, his jaw set against a grimace. He doesn't seem to be paying their packmates any attention, solely focused on getting his shaky limbs to hold his weight long enough to shift another short distance toward Quentin.</p><p>Quentin is almost grateful that he didn't manage to crawl very far before the Beast pinned him - Eliot is already only a few yards away, and when their eyes lock, Quentin can very nearly feel the relief that washes over his face. He wishes he <i>could</i> feel it, the way it would splash into his mind across the gap between them. He wants to push encouragement into Eliot's thoughts and hear his voice in return, but he'd settle for being close enough to keep Eliot from wincing with every movement.</p><p>His leg is still unwilling to let him bend it, but Quentin pushes himself up to sitting and reaches out almost before he knows what he's doing. Eliot is still too far to reach back, but Quentin can see the spark of determination that lights in his eyes as he shifts forward again.</p><p>"You're outnumbered," Alice calls across the circle. When Quentin glances over at her, he sees Julia straightening up a few feet away and stepping into her place around the ring as well. Between her and Kady, Penny looks about ready to tackle someone himself.</p><p>"You've got one chance to get the fuck out of here," he barks.</p><p>The Beast laughs again, shaking his head incredulously. "I don't think you understand," he simpers. "How about I give you the same offer I gave your packmate?"</p><p>He turns back to Quentin then, his cold gaze as piercing as ever, and Quentin feels his entire body clench in panic. "Let me claim this pup, and I'll—"</p><p>"Yeah, not interested," Penny cuts him off, and a second later he's leaping out into the middle of the circle with a growl. The Beast is startled just long enough for Penny to raise a fist, but his clawed hand shoots out to catch it before it can connect. He wrenches Penny's arm back and Quentin's stomach drops as he hears something snap.</p><p>Penny's shout of pain springs the others into action, and they all lunge forward as the Beast tosses him aside. The Beast is still the only one with claws, so their advance involves a lot of dodging and weaving between his blows and each other. Quentin sees Kady land a sharp kick to the back of his knee, but the Beast whirls around as he goes down and she has to lunge out of the way of his next swipe. Josh gets a little too close in an attempt to catch and twist his arm and nearly gets raked across the chest for his trouble.</p><p>It's all so fast in the flickering firelight that Quentin can't follow every move. All he's really sure of is the two bright points of the Beast's eyes whenever he turns in Quentin's direction, and the sound of his snarls getting louder as he loses patience with batting the others away, until—</p><p>"Quentin." Eliot's voice is quiet under the growling, but still enough to steal Quentin's attention easily, and he turns away from the fight to find Eliot even closer than he was seconds ago. He's still propped up on one arm and looking a little wobbly, but his other arm is uncurled from his chest to reach out for Quentin's hand. Pulse skipping, Quentin reaches back. If they can just touch, if he can just feel Eliot's palm against his again— </p><p>A roar tears through the air between them, and Quentin whips his head around in time to see the Beast swipe Alice across the shoulder, sending her spinning to the ground. Kady manages to stagger out of range of the backhand he swings at her, but Julia is knocked aside, and when Josh tries to lunge from behind, he gets caught by the collar and slammed down into the grass— and in the moment of reprieve before anyone can get close enough to stop him, the Beast whirls to face Quentin again.</p><p>"I will have what I'm owed," he snarls, face wrenched into a feral scowl as he drops low to pounce. He barely looks human anymore, his eyes flashing, his fangs jutting out like they're too large for his mouth.</p><p>Quentin's breath freezes in his throat, his entire chest locking. Even pinned down with his vision narrowed on the threat, he can still sense Eliot heaving himself up to get between them before the Beast makes his move— and then a familiar voice rings out from above them.</p><p>"Hey, dickhead!"</p><p>Quentin can't help wrenching his gaze up to the balcony, where Margo is poised by the railing with a gun in her hands. Even the Beast turns to snarl at her, but she doesn't flinch as she clicks the safety off.</p><p>"Paws off, asshole," she growls, sharp-eyed. "He's one of ours."</p><p>The gunshot echoes through the courtyard, somehow much louder than Quentin expects. It takes him a long few seconds to realize he's closed his eyes, and he hesitates a moment longer before he blinks them open.</p><p>The first thing he sees is Eliot, half-slumped in front of him where he jumped in to shield Quentin from a blow that never came. The Beast is still only a few steps away, still standing, still facing the balcony. With a sudden lurch, he starts to turn around, almost as if he was waiting for Quentin to be watching. Dread tumbles through Quentin's ribs as the Beast twists to face him again.</p><p>Then he sees the slowly-spreading bloom of red over the hole in the Beast's chest. The colour darkens as it soaks through his shirt and drips over his jacket. The Beast opens his mouth and then closes it. Quentin doesn't dare breathe.</p><p>Lurching forward again, the Beast takes a single stumbling step, then crumples in the grass. After that, he doesn't move.</p><p>For a long time, Quentin just stares at him, at his body, at the blue flickering out of his eyes, until Eliot's shoulder blocks his view. He lets his gaze be drawn up into Eliot's face instead, a little confused at first by how close he suddenly is, but he quickly decides it's not worth worrying about. When Eliot touches him, Quentin finally feels his lungs expand.</p><p>"Quentin, hey," Eliot breathes, one hand cupping Quentin's jaw and the other shakily brushing his hair out of his eyes. He looks terrible, pale and bruised and blood-spattered, and Quentin has never wanted to look at him more. "Are you okay? Q, baby, come on, talk to me."</p><p>"You're glowing," Quentin murmurs. It's not what he means to say, but the light suddenly shimmering at Eliot's edges is kind of hard to ignore. It's not until the words are out that he remembers Eliot saying the same thing in the bar— is this what he meant? Had he seen Quentin glow like he is now, like the sun is behind him?</p><p>As Eliot's brow furrows, Quentin reaches up to touch the side of his face, passing his fingers through the light like he's wanted to do every time he's seen it. It's not actually that much like the sun, now that he's thinking about it - the rays are closer to white than any warm colour, and there's no heat. It's more like the moon is out after all, like it's shining down on them specifically, just like—</p><p>"Oh," Quentin says quietly, blinking, and then he laughs, dropping his hand as he goes boneless with relief and an unexpected surge of giddiness.</p><p>Eliot smiles too, like he can't help it, even though he's clearly still concerned. "What's so funny?"</p><p>Quentin can only shake his head and snicker and try his best to stay upright. The light fades from around Eliot like it's sinking back into him, but Quentin finds that watching Eliot's eyes search his face holds his interest just as much.</p><p>"We almost died," Eliot wryly reminds him, but his thumb brushes softly across Quentin's cheekbone as he says it. "And this is your third time. Not exactly a laugh riot."</p><p>"It's not that," Quentin manages, trying to wrangle his smile while Eliot runs his hands down his arms, checking for injury. Maybe he kind of has a point about the near-death experience thing, actually - this might not be the best time to talk, considering they're both bleeding in several places, and there's also the matter of the dead body lying only a few feet away. But Quentin can hardly think about any of that when they're so close together, when Eliot is touching him, when there's a familiar hope rising in his chest that he can't ignore, rekindled and brighter than ever. "It's— it's like in the story—"</p><p>He doesn't get much further than that before he hears six pairs of footsteps hurrying across the grass towards them, but Eliot's hands pause and his eyes dart back up to keep Quentin from looking away - until Margo drops to her knees beside them a second later, and they both turn to look at her instead.</p><p>"You're both grounded," she huffs, but her lip trembles a little just before she throws her arms around Eliot's neck. He groans as she presses against the bloody wound in his chest, but he wraps around her just as tightly, closing his eyes. One of Margo's hands snakes out to flap at Quentin, too, even as her face is hidden in Eliot's shoulder, and Quentin can't help grinning as he wraps his fingers around hers.</p><p>He looks up as the others approach their little huddle, mentally checking each of them off - Josh, limping a little but already grinning at them; Alice with blood in her hair and a hand pressed to her shoulder; Kady and Julia each with an arm around Penny as he cradles one wrist— except Julia breaks off almost as soon as Quentin looks at her, and presses in beside Margo to crush his spine in a hug. Quentin's breath is pushed out in a laugh, but he feels his eyes prickle as he hugs her back, slipping his hand out of Margo's to hold her closer.</p><p>"Oh my god, Q," she sighs out, her voice wavering. 'We ran here as soon as the spell worked, but I was so scared, I thought—"</p><p>"It's okay, I'm fine," Quentin soothes her, a little wobbly himself. "You saved me, Jules."</p><p>She sniffles and pulls back just far enough to search his face, her eyes wet. "Are you sure you're alright?"</p><p>Quenin nods, then remembers that his leg is throbbing, and why. "I mean, I got stabbed, but, you know."</p><p>"<i>You—</i> jesus, Q, where?" Julia leans back to look him over and immediately shrugs off her sweater to hold against the gash in his thigh, pressing hard enough to hurt. "That's the opposite of fine, you asshole."</p><p>"He's had worse," Penny points out, grinning when Quentin gives him a halfhearted glare mid-wince. "Compared to last time, getting stabbed just once must be like a walk in the park, right?"</p><p>"I can't really recommend it," Eliots says tightly. Quentin looks over at him to see Margo has pushed him back by the shoulders to examine the bloody gouges in his chest. He still looks more grisly than any of them - except maybe the Beast, if he still counts.</p><p>"I guess waiting for sunrise is probably faster than driving to the ER," Alice says, grimacing a little.</p><p>Eliot's mouth twists in what's either a bitten-back groan or a wry smile. "Yes, I'd rather not have to try to explain why it looks like I was mauled by a bear this far from the Central Park Zoo, thank you."</p><p>"Or strangled by one," Margo scoffs, making him wince when she touches the marks on his neck. "I swear to god, we leave for <i>one</i> night—"</p><p>"Getting ambushed wasn't exactly in the plan, Bambi," Eliot says dryly.</p><p>Margo barely bates an eye. "Neither was me shooting a man in our backyard, yet here we are. You're welcome, by the way."</p><p>Julia glances up from Quentin's wound, frowning just a little. "I'm glad we didn't wait around for the other alphas, but how did you know that would work?"</p><p>"I didn't," Margo admits, shrugging. "But I did know that any guy who lets people call him 'the Beast' has an <i>insane</i> ego problem, and wouldn't have bothered making a contingency for something as mundane as a gun." She gives her a sarcastic smile. "The most pretentious of dickholes never do."</p><p>"Shoutout to hubris," Josh says sagely.</p><p>"Or luck," Quentin mumbles, glancing at the body a few paces away.</p><p>Margo reaches out to touch his cheek, turning his face back towards her instead. "He was dead the moment he decided to come for you tonight," she says firmly, but her eyes soften as she holds Quentin's gaze, and she strokes his hair before dropping her hand. "I just wish we'd gotten here sooner."</p><p>"Marina wanted to change the terms of the deal at the last second," Kady explains with a guilty look. "We thought we had all night to cast, so we let her make her case first."</p><p>Quentin can't say he's really surprised, considering his previous experiences with Marina. "What did she want?"</p><p>"The body," Julia says grimly. Quentin resists the urge to glance over at it again, and just watches the others' eyes shift in that direction instead.</p><p>"Even human-shaped, that's a whole mouthful of alpha fangs," Kady sighs. "Plus whatever else the coven deems worth keeping."</p><p>"Or exacting revenge on," Penny snorts.</p><p>Margo shrugs again. "As long as they get him out of here before my sense of smell comes back, they can do whatever they want with him," she says, turning back to prod at Eliot a little more. </p><p>"It'll be better than he deserves, anyway," Alice adds quietly.</p><p>Quentin wants to agree, but somehow the thought of the Beast being harvested for parts is just as stomach-turning as it is vindicating. Or maybe that's just the blood loss catching up with him. He shakes his head a little before he looks back at Margo. "Does that put us back on Marina's good side, at least?"</p><p>"It better," she huffs, then lets her hands drop to her knees to push herself upright. "We'll worry about that later. For now, we should probably get you both inside, check things over with a real light and a first-aid kit. The rest of you, too," she adds over her shoulder, waving the others toward the house before she turns back to grab Eliot's arm and helps him, groaning, to his feet.</p><p>With Eliot no longer blocking his view, Quentin can see Alice leading the way to Haven's busted-open back door, with Josh just behind and Kady drawing Penny along as well. All four of them give the body in their path a wide berth, but Quentin's chest still lurches for a second, expecting the Beast to leap up and swipe at someone, before he remembers the gunshot. The bloody hole in his chest looked pretty indisputable, and that was before Quentin literally watched the light leave his eyes.</p><p>He reels a little while the thought sinks into him. The Beast is gone. The body in the grass hasn't moved since it hit the ground, and it's not going to move now, either. Quentin can't help glancing at Julia and finds her already looking back, her gaze a little wet again. Quentin's eyes are stinging a bit too, and he doesn't have to hear Julia's thoughts to know she's thinking the same thing he is, feeling the same weight lift off her shoulders.</p><p>They made it. They're here, they're <i>safe</i>, and they'll never have to run again. That thought will probably need some time to sink in too, but for now it's enough to watch Julia breathe out a relieved laugh, and feel a matching watery grin force its way onto his face. He's going to hug her so, <i>so</i> hard when he's feeling less stabbed.</p><p>"Come on, up and at 'em," Margo urges, drawing their eyes up. She and Eliot are a few steps away now, his arm over her shoulders as they look back. Still smiling, Julia hurriedly ties off her sweater around Quentin's leg before she stands up, then holds her hand out to him.</p><p>Quentin reaches up to take it a little hesitantly, wary of the full-body jolt of pain trying to move gave him before. Even with Julia's help, getting to his feet is bound to hurt a lot - but a second later, Eliot is there, ducking down to slide an arm around Quentin's waist. </p><p>"Ready?" he asks, his voice soft next to Quentin's ear. Quentin blinks up at him, taking in his small smile and the warm look in his eyes, barely seeing the blood and bruises. Even so close, it takes him a second to realize there's more than just firelight illuminating Eliot's features now - the sky is getting lighter, the dark slowly starting to fade around them.</p><p>For a moment, Quentin thinks he feels something flicker in his mind, a brief spark or a barely-there touch. But it could just be his imagination. He grips Julia's hand hard and nods, and just has time for a deep breath before he lets her and Eliot lift him up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>in this chapter, it's emotional catharsis time. happy holigays, see u next week for the final update :'|</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pack bond comes back first, though it doesn't happen all at once. While early dawn starts to lighten the street outside Haven's front windows, Quentin realizes almost with a start that he can sense the others around him again, can feel the quiet hum of threads twining back together. It's a relief, like it always is, even though they're all still close enough to him that he doesn't need the slow fading-in of the bond to tell where they are.</p><p>From his vantage point on one of the couches, he can see everyone - and they can all see him, which he thinks is probably the real reason he was set down there. That, and the proximity to a table he could prop his leg up on while he waited for the healing factor to kick in. It actually might have started working a little before he felt the first threads return, now that he's thinking about it. The stab wound still hurts, but there's a faint tingling happening somewhere under the bandage wrapped around his thigh that Quentin is pretty sure means the gash is closing itself up. Hopefully the timing is the same for the others, and their injuries will start healing too.</p><p>On the other couch across from him, Penny is still cradling his broken wrist, though more sulkily now after having the bone set once they came inside. He has Julia and Kady pressed in on either side of him, trying to soothe the frown off his face with gentle touches and cooing. Quentin suspects he's only holding the expression so they'll stay close and keep babying him, but he tries not to pay too much attention, just in case Penny starts to pick up his thoughts again and gets annoyed - although, after the way he tried to suckerpunch the Beast, Quentin thinks it's probably safe to say they're friends now.</p><p>Closer to the bar counter, he can see Margo helping Alice bandage her shoulder while also dictating to Josh how they'll have to spread word about the body in the backyard. Marina and her coven are already on their way for pickup, apparently, but someone still has to let the other packs know the hunt is off. Margo seems confident that they aren't all just waiting around at the rendezvous assuming the worst, at least - she and Fogg made some sort of backup plan for if her pack never showed up, and Todd should be on his way to Haven as well to make sure they're not dead.</p><p>As low as Todd is on the list of people Quentin wants to see right now, he's grateful that none of his packmates will have to leave to tell the other alphas what happened. Now that he can sense them again, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but he still wants everyone to just— stay home for a bit, at least until the pack bond is back at full strength. And his other bond too, though that one is taking its time.</p><p>Quentin glances at Eliot where he's leaned against the counter, listening to Margo. He's less pale than he was earlier, and Josh secured a thick gauze pad over the gouges on his chest. That wound must be starting to heal now too, though Eliot's entire half-unbuttoned shirtfront is still covered in drying blood, as well as one forearm and both his hands. He still doesn't look <i>great</i>, but better than he did on the ground. Better than he did gasping for breath.</p><p>Quentin glances away before that train of thought can get too far. It doesn't help that he can't feel Eliot yet. Or, well— he can sense his presence, same as the others, steady like it never left, but he can't pick up anything beneath the surface. Not even the muted impressions that came through whenever Eliot pushed him away. Quentin isn't sure if that's more of a worry or a relief. </p><p>But maybe the mate bond just needs more time. Maybe the amount of healing his body is trying to do takes priority. His palm itches where the cut is closing up, and he knows without turning it over that he'll have another temporary scar. It's kind of weird to look at the blood drying between his fingers and know that some of it is definitely Eliot's, smeared there when their hands were pressed together before the Beast lunged.</p><p>Remembering what Eliot said while he held onto him so tightly makes Quentin's heart pound, but at the same time, he's not sure he wants the thin line across his palm this time. More than anything, it would be a reminder of what came before the Beast even showed up - the knife point sliding across his skin to begin the ritual, trying to ignore the pain spiking up his wrist so they could just get it over with. He's pretty sure they didn't complete the ritual before they were interrupted, but anxiety still twists in his stomach at the thought.</p><p>What if they really did manage to disconnect after all? What if that's the reason the mate bond hasn't returned yet, the reason he still can't feel Eliot? Quentin didn't give himself much time to think about losing it forever before the ritual, figuring he could make some sort of peace with it after the fact, but that's not an option anymore, and honestly, he's not sure it ever was. His memory of what it's like to have Eliot close, to have warmth spread out from his ribs and know that Eliot put it there, to share one space between them - it's not good enough. He wants to feel it again.</p><p>Taking a determined breath, Quentin braces to lift his leg off the table so he can stand up, but almost as soon as he starts to push off the couch, a hand falls on his shoulder. "Going somewhere?" Eliot asks, eyebrows raised as he smirks at him.</p><p>Quentin immediately relaxes, a relieved smile rising on his face unbidden as Eliot carefully lowers himself down next to him on the couch. Even if they can't feel each other that closely just yet, he supposes having Eliot nearby while they wait is a start - and from how close Eliot sits, keeping his hand on Quentin's arm even now that their shoulders could brush, Quentin thinks Eliot might be thinking the same thing.</p><p>"I'm pretty sure I remember hearing Margo say you're supposed to sit tight until you're a little less punctured," Eliot says wryly, only wincing a little as he settles.</p><p>"You're the one she called a pincushion," Kady points out, watching Eliot's expression with a slight frown. "At least Quentin only got stabbed once."</p><p>"With a knife," Julia reminds her, shooting Quentin a pointed look. He tries to return it sheepishly, but having Eliot's presence washing over him makes it hard to do anything but bite back a grin. "Which had someone else's blood all over it first."</p><p>Eliot makes a face and glances down at his bandages. "Yeah, I don't really want to think about the last time the Beast cleaned his fingernails, either."</p><p>Penny snorts. "Don't let Alice hear that."</p><p>"Good thing werewolves can't get tetanus," Julia huffs, leaning against his shoulder.</p><p>"With the whole pack together like this, you'll all be fine," Kady says, rolling her eyes, but a second later she turns a softer look on Quentin. "I guess you two are in the same boat as the rest of us again when it comes to healing."</p><p>Quentin frowns confusedly at her, and her brow furrows. "Without the mate bond, I mean," she explains, glancing between him and Eliot. "Or did you not have a chance to go through with the ritual before our recently deceased friend showed up?"</p><p>"Oh. Uh—" Quentin flounders a little, unsure how to talk about it out loud, especially when he doesn't really know the answer. "I'm not— I mean, I can't feel it yet, so I don't really—"</p><p>"It's still there," Eliot says over him, startling Quentin into looking up. "We didn't get far enough to break it."</p><p>Quentin blinks at him in surprise, but his expression is unreadable - not quite stoic, just... quiet, and he doesn't return the look, though his hand stays on Quentin's shoulder. Following his gaze instead, Quentin turns to watch relief cross Kady's face, even when she quickly hides it in an approving smile.</p><p>"Well, good," she says with a nod. "You both could use the healing boost."</p><p>"Understatement," Penny says, briefly grimacing at their bloody bandages, but he looks a little relieved too. Beside him, Julia is nearly grinning, though clearly trying to reel it in, and looking at her finally unwinds something in Quentin's chest and he manages to smile back.</p><p>He figured she had told Kady and Penny about the ritual, but he didn't expect them to be, like, <i>invested</i> in the outcome - although, admittedly, he'd rather they be glad it didn't work than happy that it did. It's just nice that they care at all. Quentin isn't sure if it's good or bad that he keeps getting surprised by his packmates acting like they're— well, his <i>packmates</i>. Even Eliot seems… maybe not surprised, exactly, but when Quentin glances at him again there's a hesitant sort of quirk to his lips, like he didn't expect their relief, or maybe like he didn't expect to feel it himself.</p><p>"Wait," Penny says, his eyes narrowed suspiciously when Quentin looks back at him. "You're not going to try again, are you?" He pouts at Julia's immediate reprimanding tug on his arm. "Ow, hey, I'm just asking!"</p><p>"Let them relax for a minute," Julia scolds. "The sun is hardly up. Nobody needs to worry about that yet."</p><p>"I'm not <i>worried</i>," Penny scoffs, maybe a little more incredulous than necessary. Quentin would laugh if he wasn't also curious about the answer - but before he can really consider it, Eliot's hand moves from his shoulder to slide over the back of the couch. His arm brushes warm against the nape of Quentin's neck as it brackets him in, and that takes enough of his focus that he tunes out the rest of the bickering until Kady's voice cuts in.</p><p>"Okay, okay, look—" She catches Penny's hands before he can try to gesture with his broken wrist, and settles both him and Julia with a softly exasperated look. "It's been a long night. We just got out of a fight for several lives, and Quentin just escaped the inescapable for the third time. Let's celebrate that record and wind down, and we'll deal with the rest later when we're all less overtired, alright?"</p><p>"As long as you can celebrate while wiping bloody handprints off the counter," Margo says, coming up beside their table with her hands on her hips. "I know it's subtle, but <i>someone</i> bled all over the place while we were out." She shoots a playful glare at Eliot, who rolls his eyes in return. Quentin bites back a snicker as she sets her gaze on Kady, Penny, and Julia.</p><p>"The sooner we get this place looking classy again, the sooner we can all go pass out," she says, urging the three of them to their feet. Penny looks ready to grumble - whether about being roped into helping, or just about Kady and Julia having to let go of him, Quentin isn't sure - but Margo doesn't give him a chance to say much. "Come on," she sighs, shooing them off towards the bar. "You've got five arms between you. That's more than enough to sanitize a surface."</p><p>Beyond them, Quentin can see Josh righting overturned tables and chairs, and Alice sweeping up shattered glass that must be the remnants of the wine bottle Eliot smashed. There's a few rags on the floor soaking up wine as well, and, yeah, a good deal of blood on and around the bar counter. Grimacing a little, Quentin figures he should probably go help. His leg doesn't hurt so much anymore, and besides, some of those smeared handprints are probably his.</p><p>But at the same time, while nobody is watching, a weird urge draws his gaze back over to Eliot, and he risks another peek up at him. This time, Quentin manages to catch his eye, almost like Eliot is sneaking a glance at the same moment. He doesn't know why it suddenly feels so different just to look at each other - maybe because Eliot sounded so sure about the bond coming back, or maybe because they're both thinking about the frantic few minutes they spent crouched by the counter.</p><p>Or maybe it's because having his singular focus reminds Quentin of how Eliot dragged himself across the yard just to reach for his hand. As Quentin's pulse jumps, suddenly all he can think about is the way Eliot shielded him from the Beast, how he touched his face afterwards, the way he said <i>Baby—</i></p><p>Quentin drops his gaze then, before Eliot can see the flush spreading across his cheeks. He looks past the couches to watch Julia cross the room instead, trailing behind Kady and still-grumbling Penny - but he catches the very end of a knowing smile from her before she turns away, and can't decide how indignant he really wants to feel about it.</p><p>Luckily Margo distracts him then, crossing in front of him and Eliot and taking a seat on the table before them. She settles one hand on Quentin's outstretched ankle resting beside her, and lets out a long breath before she gives Eliot a flat look. "Next month, we're definitely doing spa night instead."</p><p>Quentin can't help snorting a laugh, and Eliot cracks a smile too before he reaches out for her free hand. "Honestly, Bambi, I think we might all need it sooner than that."</p><p>"You're both okay, right?" Margo asks, giving each of them a suspicious once over, though she lingers a little longer on Quentin. "And you're actually healing? There's no festering alpha bites this time?"</p><p>"Not for lack of trying," Quentin mumbles, his brain unhelpfully supplying a replay of the Beast's snapping teeth, his sharp grin leering down, his jutting fangs. But Eliot was there, he reminds himself, pushing the images away. Every time, Eliot was there to pull him back or to get in the way, and he's still here now, right beside him.</p><p>He feels Eliot's fingertips brush his shoulder at the same moment, almost like he can tell what Quentin is thinking - and maybe he can, because when Quentin glances up at him he's looking back without any of the hesitance he had before, and there's a spark of warmth in Quentin's chest that might not be his own anymore. "I told you," Eliot says, soft but steady. "I won't let that happen again."</p><p>Margo clears her throat before Quentin can come up with a reply, but he sure does manage to flush pink as he turns to find her fixing both of them with an almost expectant look. "And you're both done being idiots?" she asks, eyebrows raised.</p><p>Quentin frowns a little. That seems a bit uncalled for, considering how well they handled their brush with death - namely by not getting killed - but the longer Margo looks between them, the more he starts to wonder if maybe she means something other than that. She smiles before he can do much more than flounder though, and pats his ankle in what's either sympathy or approval.</p><p>"Why don't you two head on upstairs?" Margo suggests, nodding toward the alcove and stairs beyond. "The rest of us can finish cleaning up down here. You two bled all over everything enough the first time," she adds, raising a finger to cut Quentin off before he can even begin to insist on helping. "No need to make even more of a mess."</p><p>She might have a point, Quentin supposes, glancing sheepishly down at his bloodstained clothing - and Eliot is in even worse shape. "Go take a shower," Margo says, waving a hand at them as she stands up. "Both of you. In fact, use mine in the loft. It's bigger."</p><p>Eliot gives her an almost suspicious look as she tugs on his hand. "Bambi—"</p><p>"Don't make me Charm you," Margo threatens. Eliot huffs out the rest of his sentence with a halfhearted glare that turns into a wince as she helps him off the couch, his arm trailing across Quentin's shoulders as he goes. Quentin tries not to shiver at the loss of warmth.</p><p>Once Eliot is upright, Margo lets go of his hand so he can turn and offer it to Quentin instead. Quentin's eyes catch on the cut on his palm, already half-closed. His own palm still hurts a little, but he reaches out with it anyway, and presses the two together. He thinks he sees the edge of a smile breaking through Eliot's disgruntled expression just before his leg throbs and he has to look down, making sure he moves it carefully off the table as he stands up. It doesn't hurt so much once Quentin is on his feet, the wound healed enough that he could probably keep his balance on his own if he had to - but to his relief, Eliot keeps a firm grip on his hand anyway.</p><p>"Go on," Margo urges, shooing them toward the hall. "And take your time, alright? I don't want to see you dumbasses again for at least half an hour." She catches Quentin's gaze and winks. "Feel free to take longer."</p><p>Quentin flushes again, but Eliot just rolls his eyes. "Much appreciated, Bambi, thank you," he says dryly as he turns to lead the way into the alcove, but there's a grudgingly fond look on his face that Quentin is pretty sure Margo is aware of.</p><p>"Don't bleed on my good towels," she calls after them before flouncing off to join the others by the bar, and then she's out of sight as Eliot gently tugs Quentin around the corner to mount the steps.</p><p>Quentin actually manages to get up the first set of stairs without much of a problem, but the second set leading up to the loft are more of a challenge. His thigh starts stinging again near the bottom, and outright trembling about halfway up, but Eliot doesn't let go of his hand even when he slows down. Quentin keeps a deathgrip on both him and the railing, but it's the soft, hovering warmth of Eliot's other hand at the small of his back that gets him up the last few steps.</p><p>Crossing the loft den is a lot easier than climbing stairs, and once Eliot helps him over the final step up into Margo's bedroom, Quentin can actually focus on things other than keeping his balance - like the unmistakable alpha scent spread over the whole floor. It's a relief, not only for the familiarity, but for the fact that he can sense it at all. Still, as inconvenient as human-level nose-blindness is, it's not at the top of his list of muted traits he wants fixed already. Even this close to Eliot, even touching him, Quentin still can't feel anything from the mate bond.</p><p>He lets go when they reach Margo's closet so Eliot can procure clean clothes from the stash of his own pajamas he apparently keeps with her things, then follows him past the bed and into the en suite. It's bigger than Quentin expects, and bright even though they skip the lights in favour of the slowly pinkening sky outside the window. There's neat white tile, a wide mirror above the counter, a cabinet full of fluffy towels, a bathtub in one corner, and, separately, a glass shower stall, which is definitely larger than the tub shower downstairs.</p><p>It's not until Eliot opens it up to get the water started that Quentin realizes there's enough room inside for both of them to shower at once, and then he can't really think about anything else. Is that what Margo meant when she sent them up here together? It would certainly save some time, although Margo also said they were supposed to take as long as they wanted—</p><p>"Unfortunately, I think your jeans are a lost cause once again," Eliot says, drawing Quentin's thoughts away from the steaming water and accompanying images. He sets the clean clothes down on the counter with a sigh, and Quentin blinks a few times to get himself to focus - only to catch on Eliot's clenched jaw and exposed collar as he slowly slips his vest off his shoulders. "If it makes you feel any better, this shirt is dry-clean only."</p><p>He starts in on his last few buttons, practically prying the blood-sticky material apart before Quentin manages to drag his gaze away. Leaning back against the counter, he tugs off his hoodie - mostly clean, except for some bloody handprints - but leaves his shirt on as he unwraps the bandage around his thigh and gets to work peeling his jeans off.</p><p>The fabric around his stab wound is still unpleasantly damp, the deep red extremely apparent even on dark denim. The wound itself looks better - no longer leaking, as Margo would say, but aside from a thin stripe of pale skin under the hem of his briefs at the top of his thigh, the rest of his leg is sticky and stained red. It's an uncomfortable slide against the massive drying bloodstain that is the left half of his jeans. Eliot is probably right that he won't be wearing these again. It makes him feel less bad about leaving them in a crumpled heap on the tile, at least, and he bites back a laugh at the disdainful look Eliot gives the remnants of his shirt as he adds it to the pile.</p><p>Eliot immediately moves onto removing his own bandages, and Quentin can't help stealing a glance at the claw marks when they're revealed. It's hard to tell just how healed the gouges are, if at all, since Eliot's chest is still smeared with blood, and there's still half-dried rivulets running down the sides of his neck too, and the sticky stains on his hands where he's reaching down to undo his belt—</p><p>Quentin quickly looks away again, a weird mix of embarrassment and guilt twisting in his stomach. He crosses his arms over his chest and settles his eyes on the cabinet of towels instead, clearing his throat quietly under the soft hush of water hitting glass. "So which of those are we not allowed to bleed on?"</p><p>"All of them," Eliot says wryly. His belt clinks as it hits the floor, followed by a rustle of fabric. "It's fine, Q. The sun's coming up, so by the time we've rinsed all this off, nobody should be bleeding anymore. Plus, we have a boost, like Kady said."</p><p>"Right," Quentin mumbles, but his brow furrows the more he thinks about it. "How do you know it's still there?" he asks, looking down at his bare legs pressed together, one red-stained foot on top of the other. "The mate bond, I mean. I still can't feel it. Can you?"</p><p>There's a short pause before he hears Eliot sigh. "No," he admits, "but I know what it feels like to pull away from a bond, and believe me, you'd know if we had gotten to that."</p><p>"Because it hurts," Quentin supplies, thinking of Eliot's stubborn look in the firelight.</p><p>"It's unpleasant, yes. But we were derailed before we could try. Not that the Beast didn't do his best to make up for whatever pain we missed out on," Eliot adds wryly.</p><p>Quentin isn't so sure that he missed anything, actually. The ritual hurt pretty bad from the start, even before his hand was cut. Even before he went down into the yard to join Eliot by the fire.</p><p>"I think we just have to be patient, Q," Eliot goes on, as his blood-spattered slacks are added to the pile near Quentin's feet. "It'll come back any time now, like it never left."</p><p>There's something almost cheery in his voice, like he's relieved, more than anything, that they didn't get to finish the ritual. Quentin is relieved too, of course he is - but he also remembers Eliot turning away from him in the bar, and in the kitchen with Julia, and— so many other times, always leaving a knot of guilt in Quentin's chest. "And then what?"</p><p>He glances up to find Eliot looking back at him confusedly, a smile fading from his mouth. "Q, what—"</p><p>"I'm serious," Quentin cuts him off, an ache suddenly rising through his ribs. "The bond comes back, we're mates again, and then what? I mean is this even— is this what you want?"</p><p>Is he just supposed to forget the bitter look Eliot had behind the counter, the way he said <i>This isn't what either of us wanted</i>, like Quentin was an idiot for thinking anything else? And Quentin wasn't the only one whose protests Eliot scoffed over, either.</p><p>"I heard you and Margo before she left," Quentin forces out, the words stinging as they leave his throat. "You said you couldn't do this with me."</p><p>For a split second, as Eliot's jaw clenches, Quentin thinks he feels something flicker between them - a low note of guilt that slips away a moment later. It's not at all as satisfying as he wants it to be.</p><p>"Quentin," Eliot says softly, taking a step closer to him, "I didn't mean—"</p><p>"Then what <i>did</i> you mean?" Quentin asks, his voice coming out sharper than he expects. The hurt in his chest is hardening into something angry and prickly, something that even Eliot won't want to touch.</p><p>But Eliot swallows hard and takes another hesitant step anyway. "I thought if we did the ritual, I would be saving you from—"</p><p>"From what?" Quentin scoffs, clinging to the anger as it tries to dissolve under Eliot's gaze. He looks away, down at his tightly crossed arms, at the blood that isn't his drying on the back of his wrist. "From how much you regret this?"</p><p>"No," Eliot says quickly, and suddenly he's right in front of Quentin, hovering half a step away like he had to remind himself to stop there. "From me. From being... stuck with me."</p><p>Bewildered, Quentin looks up before he can remember not to. He finds Eliot looking back with something close to desperation in his eyes, as if just the idea of Quentin dropping his gaze is painful. </p><p>"When you got hurt," he says, quiet like he's dragging the words up, "and you weren't healing, I just— I couldn't even consider it, Quentin. I couldn't lose you." He reaches out but his hand hovers too, not quite close enough for Quentin to feel the heat of before he drops it. "But I know I'm not— you didn't have a choice."</p><p>"I did," Quentin argues, the last of the ache forcing its way into his throat. "I chose you."</p><p>Eliot manages to look wry for a moment. "I mean a choice where death wasn't the second option," he says, shaking his head when Quentin tries to huff. "It wasn't fair, Q. Any chance there was to give you an out, I had to take it."</p><p>He does lower his eyes then, his brows pinched as he lets out a breath that sounds raw. "Look, I knew you didn't want to do the ritual. I knew it would hurt, and you would hate me for it—"</p><p>"What— no," Quentin cuts him off, reaching for Eliot's hand almost without thinking. He hardly notices the spike of panic searing through him until it's already being soothed by the touch. "I don't <i>hate</i> you, Eliot, god."</p><p>"But you would have," Eliot insists, keeping his eyes down, his grip loose on Quentin's fingers. "When Julia first told us, and you tried to— you wanted to try staying together, see if we could figure it out." He shakes his head again, his mouth twisting into a sad half-smile. "I could feel— there was that excited spark, same as the night before, same as out on the balcony. Familiar." </p><p>He smiles a second longer before his expression twists again, almost like Eliot is flinching away from the memory. "But... every time, all I could think about was— somewhere down the line, you inevitably realizing I'm not worth it." He lets go of Quentin's hand, looking ready to step back. "And you'd regret not getting out while you could."</p><p>Incredulous, Quentin can only stare up at him. "So you just decided for me? I thought you wanted me to have a choice."</p><p>Eliot presses his lips together, brow furrowed. "I do, but—"</p><p>"Then why?" Quentin feels his throat stinging again, his voice threatening to waver as he wraps his arms around himself. "I don't get it, Eliot, just— please, tell me what I did to make you—"</p><p>"It's not you," Eliot says firmly, finally looking up at him. "It's <i>me</i>, you're the good part, and I'm just…" He trails off, closing his eyes for a moment, like he's bracing himself. "I'm really good at fucking things up, Quentin. And I would rather you hate me for something I can control than… watch you grow into it, hating me for something I can't apologize for."</p><p>Quentin frowns, desperately searching his face. "For <i>what</i>? Saving my life?"</p><p>"No, not that," Eliot says, sighing out a tired laugh as he opens his eyes again. "For wanting to keep you."</p><p>Quentin's entire ribcage seems to clench, frozen for the single moment that Eliot's soft, resigned gaze meets his before dropping. Eliot reaches out again, though, almost like he can't help it, tugging Quentin's fingers away from where they're clenched in his shirt.</p><p>"Even now," he murmurs, "I still... I thought with the ritual, I could let you go. But I can't."</p><p>It's not until he's drawn both of Quentin's hands into his own that Quentin remembers he can move them, and clamps their fingers together as hard as he can. His entire body feels like it's trembling - with what, he's not sure.</p><p>"Then why did you say none of this mattered?" Quentin mumbles. He's almost surprised it doesn't come out as a shout, but his voice is kind of watery now, so maybe it's for the best. "You know how it felt when we were close, you know how <i>I</i> felt, but— you kept acting like it was nothing."</p><p>"I lied." Eliot almost winces as he says it, and Quentin tries his best to tighten his grip. "I'm sorry, Q. I thought if I just— if I kept telling myself it was just the bond, or just the full moon, or just— me, projecting, I could keep my distance."</p><p>Quentin thinks of the chasm opened between them, how far away Eliot felt every time. "Why did you want to?"</p><p>"I was scared," Eliot admits, barely above a whisper. "This whole time, I've been scared, Quentin. Every time you look at me like you actually… like you <i>want</i> this, I'm terrified." He slides his thumb across Quentin's knuckles, lips quirking wryly. "It's kind of a miracle I made it this far without running away, honestly. But I guess our brush with death kind of reworked my priorities." Quentin watches him wince again, brow furrowed and jaw tight. "And… I don't want to lie to you anymore."</p><p>He lets out a breath through his nose, still looking down at their joined hands. "The truth is," Eliot says, soft like he'd afraid of speaking too loud, "I don't want to let you go. But I don't know how to make this work."</p><p>But that doesn't sound right to Quentin. Eliot was the one who found him crouched in the hallway when he couldn't sleep, and again when the full moon drove him away from the others, and <i>stayed</i> with him, always seeming to know what Quentin needed before he did. He's the one who showed him around, led him along, covered his back, protected him— and he's the one who Quentin wants kissing him, touching him so softly like he's done before - like he's doing now.</p><p>"I think you do," Quentin says, determined now, even as the words waver, even as Eliot gives him a confused look, even as his heart pounds almost painfully against his ribs. "Listen, will you just…" He tugs on Eliot's hands to draw him closer, pressing himself back against the counter while Eliot steps hesitantly into his space.</p><p>"I wanted to run, too, at the start," Quentin admits, gripping Eliot's fingers tightly. "But you made me want to stay." He watches Eliot watch him, trying to pour as much warmth as he can into his gaze - and this time, Eliot doesn't look away.</p><p>"Even without the bond," he says, forcing his voice not to shake, "or the moon, or— whatever else, it's still… I still feel the same around you. If we had a do-over, I wouldn't choose anyone else."</p><p>Eliot blinks at him as the words sink in, looking more bewildered than anything before his brows draw together. "But I'm—"</p><p>"I trust you," Quentin says over him, a little wobbly around the smile spreading unbidden on his lips. Swallowing a weak flare of nerves, he slides his palms up Eliot's arms to his bare shoulders. "You said you wouldn't let me get hurt, right?"</p><p>Eliot's hands immediately fall to Quentin's waist, tipping closer to him until their noses almost brush. "I meant it," he says, quiet but firm, like the promise outweighs any uncertainty he has. His gaze is the same now as it was when he first said it earlier in the night, without the fire flickering in his irises this time, but still bright and unwavering - and there's a familiar glimmer starting up at his edges too, or maybe it's just the first rays of sunlight catching on the steam spilling around them. "I'll do anything, Q."</p><p>"Then trust me, too," Quentin says, tipping his face up. "You're the only one, El, I swear it."</p><p>As Eliot leans down, it takes Quentin a moment to realize the rushing in his ears isn't just because of his racing pulse, the wave of warmth flooding into him isn't just his own - and then the swell of protectiveness that pushes into his chest nearly forces the breath from his lungs. As he's gasping around it, Eliot pulls back just far enough to catch his gaze again, and Quentin <i>feels</i> the split second of concern that flickers across his face before understanding dawns there instead.</p><p>"There it is," Eliot says, breathing another laugh, though this one comes with a brush of relief at the back of Quentin's mind. "I told you."</p><p>Quentin can't help a relieved laugh of his own. It's hard to tell if the bond is stronger than it was before or if he just got used to not being able to feel it, but either way, it's a little weird to be paying such close attention while he knows Eliot is doing the same thing. He can feel the same mix of surprise and relief and desire for closeness that was already swirling within him now amplified, reflected right back at him from within Eliot.</p><p>There are some other things too, quieter, underneath the rest - hints of worry and remorse, a soft trill of anxiety, and something uncertain, a blurry sort of apprehension. Quentin can't help zeroing in on that, unsure whose it is, and from the pinch in his brows, he thinks Eliot has picked it out too. Even as the anxiety gets a little stronger, he makes himself speak up. "I know this is kind of, um, emotional whiplash—"</p><p>"I don't care," Eliot breathes, and the quiet uncertainty is immediately washed away in a flood of warmth and possessiveness that leaves Quentin breathless again. "I want this," he murmurs, his palms sliding warm over Quentin's hips. "I want <i>you</i>. Please."</p><p>Quentin's heart skips as he searches Eliot's face. He doesn't think Eliot has ever been this open before, this easy to read - maybe when they first bonded, when they pushed into the same space for the first time. He can feel exactly how sure Eliot is, every note of timidity he's pushing past, and he knows Eliot can feel the rush of affection that he can't help giving back.</p><p>"You have me," he says softly, curling his fingers against the nape of Eliot's neck. "You always did."</p><p>He feels a surge of awe as Eliot stares back at him, veering a little close to disbelief for Quentin's liking, but evening out after a moment, and a grin breaks out on Eliot's face a second later. Bubbly giddiness swells across the gap instead, and he drops his head into Quentin's shoulder - though Quentin can still feel his smile against his neck.</p><p>"What?" he asks, fighting a smile himself, and then trying not to shiver as Eliot's hands start to dip under his shirt. The touch doesn't quite spark, but he can feel the warmth spreading from his skin to Eliot's, or maybe the other way around.</p><p>It's when he tries to do the same, sliding his hands down over Eliot's chest only to pause on the blood smeared there, that he remembers why he's even backed up against the bathroom counter in the first place. They both pause, apparently realizing at the same time that they're still definitely covered in blood, and the shower has definitely been running this whole time.</p><p>"You okay?" Quentin asks softly, sliding his hands back down to Eliot's shoulders as he lifts his head.</p><p>"Yeah," Eliot sighs, still smiling, though a little more sheepishly now. He takes his hands back too, but leaves them on the counter's edge, still bracketing Quentin in. "Yeah, I'm just…"</p><p>He trails off, catching Quentin's gaze for another few seconds. Quentin doesn't need the bond to tell him how Eliot is feeling when he can just watch his eyes flick down to his mouth and back up - but Eliot grins again before he can do much more than flush. "Come here."</p><p>He lets Eliot take hold of his waist again and tug him over to the shower stall, disconnecting just long enough that they can both strip the rest of their clothes off before Eliot nudges him in under the spray. He pushes his hair out of his face, letting the hot water smooth it back, and watches the red patches on his hands dissolve, running down the drain - and then Eliot steps in behind him, pulling the glass door shut and then wrapping his arms around Quentin before he can turn around.</p><p>Quentin can't help a smile as he's drawn back against Eliot's chest, pressed together while the water falls over them. He can feel Eliot's soft, pleased thrill as he noses against Quentin's neck, and his amusement when Quentin squirms, and the very edge of his teasing arousal as his hands slide down to Quentin's hips. There's a sense of relief still running underneath everything too, along with the awe, almost tender now, that hasn't quite faded. Quentin wonders what Eliot can feel while touching him, or if it's just the same things reflected back - either way, it's warm, even without the water or the steam or the heat of Eliot's body pressed against his.</p><p>He turns in Eliot's grasp to face him properly, taking in the wet curls falling into his face, the soft smile on his mouth, the flecks of blood turning pink in the water and dripping down his jaw. Quentin's eyes follow the trail the droplets make all the way down to the wound below his ribs, less grisly now than it was the last time he got a close look. It really does seem better already, enough of the blood washed away for Quentin to see where his skin is knitting back together - not fully healed yet, but it will be.</p><p>Quentin reaches out carefully to touch the edge of one ragged puncture, feeling the faint throb of it under his own ribs just for a second. Then he slides his hand up through the rivulets of water to Eliot's collar, the base of his throat, the sides of his neck where the Beast's claws dug in - those marks are nearly gone, only faint scars under Quentin's fingers that he can almost watch disappear.</p><p>He's glad there won't be any reminders of the Beast on Eliot's skin, but at the same time, he's not sure he'll ever forget what Eliot looked like with claws at his throat, or his chest covered in blood, or the sound of him struggling for painful breaths.</p><p>Eliot's presence presses at him then, soft and soothing like he's fending off the memory, and his hand gently cups Quentin's jaw, tilting his face up. Quentin can already tell what's coming even before their eyes meet, even before Eliot smiles and leans down, lips parted to catch his in a kiss.</p><p>It's a little wet, with the water still running down over them, but Quentin doesn't mind. His mouth slides slowly against Eliot's, his palms spread over Eliot's chest while Eliot drags his other hand up across Quentin's back, keeping him close.</p><p><i>I'm right here, Q.</i> Eliot's voice blooms in his mind like a light turning on, like a beacon calling out. His thumb strokes across Quentin's cheekbone as their lips part and then reconnect. He doesn't pull away. <i>I'm not going anywhere. It's just you and me.</i></p><p><i>Please,</i> Quentin sends back, unsure what he's really asking for beyond what he already has - Eliot's mouth on his, their breaths mingling with the steam, a familiar heartbeat under his palm. The rhythm reverberates through him, easily matching with his own pulse until he loses track of which that is. But it doesn't matter. As long as Eliot keeps him close, Quentin is sure he could stay here just like this, melting against Eliot, kissing him until the shower runs cold.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>— — — — —</p>
</div>Eliot's silky pajama pants are a little long on Quentin, but he likes them anyway. The shirt Eliot gave him to wear is actually Margo's, judging by the scent and the wide neckline, but it's not so bad either, even with the faded but still sparkly <i>TEAM JACOB</i> printed on the front. Besides, from the way Eliot's eyes lingered as he was pulling it on, Quentin has a feeling he might not be wearing it for long.<p>For now, though, it's just nice to be wrapped in soft clothes and familiar scents. He dries his hair in front of the mirror while Eliot put on his own pajamas behind him, slipping on a robe instead of a shirt - Quentin thinks that might be Margo's too, maybe even the one he borrowed from Eliot who was borrowing it from her. He watches Eliot tie it just tight enough so that the still-healing claw marks on his chest are covered.</p><p>He's not bleeding anymore, neither of them are, so Margo's towels are all thankfully unblemished. They didn't actually end up using all the hot water either, though it was probably a close thing. Quentin's mouth is still tingling a little from Eliot's lips and teeth and tongue - and he knows Eliot can feel it too, which makes it— well, not worse, but a bit harder to ignore. </p><p>Eliot glances up then, smirking when he catches Quentin's eye in the mirror, and Quentin can see that his lips are looking a little kiss-bruised too. It probably won't last, not now that they're healing properly, but... Quentin will have other chances, won't he, to make Eliot look like this again? Red-mouthed and flushed? Warmth curls low in Quentin's stomach at the thought, strange but thrilling, as it mingles with the heat already simmering in Eliot— but they're still in Margo's bathroom, he reminds himself, looking back at his pink-faced reflection instead. Even if she did tell them to take their time, she's probably expecting them to come out at some point.</p><p>Which is fine, Quentin decides. He can be patient. Even when he's not looking, Eliot is still right there in his mind, easy to reach for. And he knows that Eliot won't let him forget where they left off.</p><p>They both manage to keep their hands to themselves while the last of the shower steam dissipates, although Eliot breaks just before they leave the en suite, reaching out when Quentin comes to join him by the door. He slides his fingers through Quentin's damp hair to the back of his neck, his palm fitting there like it's meant to - Quentin doesn't quite shiver at the touch, but Eliot smiles knowingly anyway, probably feeling the spark of anticipation that alights down his spine. Willing away the heat in his cheeks, Quentin does his best to ignore Eliot's pleased amusement at his reaction and opens the door himself.</p><p>He doesn't really know what he's expecting when they step out into Margo's room - for Eliot to hustle him along, maybe, out of patience as he leads the way to the attic, or perhaps for Margo to be waiting on her bed, ready to either accost them about her linens or tease them about their extremely long shower. Instead, he and Eliot find the entire pack lounging in pajamas in the den, blankets and quilts spread across the floor between the couches and chairs to make a soft, pillow-strewn nest.</p><p>Eliot seems about as bewildered as Quentin is, though his confusion quickly settles into something fond as Margo peeks over the back of the closest couch. "Took you long enough," she huffs, but it's heatless, and from the way she's smiling at them, Quentin thinks she might not just mean their shower. Her approving look as Eliot's hand slides onto his shoulder makes Quentin's face feel hot again, but he still finds himself unable to help smiling back as Eliot leads him down to the edge of the blanket pile.</p><p>He's not sure how he missed the sense of the others gathering together so closeby, though he supposes he and Eliot were a <i>little</i> preoccupied. Now that he's looking around at all of them, Quentin can feel the unmistakable draw of the pack bond, the threads connecting them almost humming in his mind. Alice is on the couch next to Margo, with Josh and Kady already sprawled out on the duvet by their feet, and Julia is lying across from them with her head in Penny's lap - but she sits up when Eliot brings Quentin closer.</p><p>"Never too late for a slumber party," she says with a grin.</p><p>"Or too early," Kady laughs, rolling over to hook her arm around Julia's waist. "You guys missed the sunrise."</p><p>"There's always tomorrow," Margo says easily, before Quentin can even try to form an excuse. "It's not like any of us are doing jack shit for the next week."</p><p>"Really?" Josh asks, lifting his head to frown. "I thought for sure you'd want to throw a party. You know, like a 'Ding-Dong, The Beast is Dead' type of thing."</p><p>Margo raises an eyebrow at him. "Did I say we wouldn't?"</p><p>"Of course we will," Eliot scoffs, like it's unthinkable to do otherwise. Quentin bites back a laugh, but Eliot must feel it anyway - he glances down at him and smiles a little, and the hand on Quentin's shoulder tightens for just a second. "But Bambi is right. It can wait."</p><p>Kady sits up to stare almost suspiciously between him and Margo. "You two, postponing a party?" she checks, incredulous. "Are you both feeling okay?"</p><p>"Hey, it's called delayed gratification," Margo insists, waving her off while Alice snickers next to her. "And besides, our venue could use a couple more days to air out. It still smells like voluntary manslaughter down there."</p><p>"The courtyard, too," Julia says with a grimace that Quentin returns.</p><p>"And we need a new door," Penny adds, flopping down on his back.</p><p>Eliot tries to lift his chin haughtily, but the effect is kind of lost while he's in pajamas. "Arguably, none of that was our fault," he points out, his arm snaking further across Quentin's shoulders. Quentin lets himself be drawn a little closer and pretends not to notice Margo rolling her eyes at them.</p><p>"At least Marina already offered to redo the runes," Alice sighs, taking off her glasses. "On the gate and on both doors, just to be thorough."</p><p>"Maybe we should invite her to the party," Quentin says wryly, picturing Fogg trying to keep his patronizing expression at a table full of witches. Actually, the more he thinks about it, the less of a joke he wants it to be. "I mean, she and the coven did do more to help than any of the other wolves, right?"</p><p>Penny snorts at the ceiling. "Yeah, but that bar was pretty low. Even <i>Todd</i> helped more than any of the rest."</p><p>Quentin starts to laugh with the others, but Eliot abruptly pulls back to arms-length to give him a serious look. "Todd is not invited," he says sternly.</p><p>"Oh, come on," Margo teases, trying to pout over the grin everyone else has given up trying to hold back. "He's really been using his nuisance powers for good, lately."</p><p>"Yeah, <i>he's</i> not the one who told a roomful of alphas to eat shit last week," Kady says, with a pointed look at Quentin.</p><p>"That's different," Eliot insists, distracting Quentin halfway into an indignant frown as he draws him back in under his arm again. "They deserved it. Todd, meanwhile, does <i>not</i> deserve another opportunity to desecrate my bar."</p><p>Julia tilts her head, playfully thoughtful. "But can you imagine their faces if we invited Todd and then none of the alphas?"</p><p>For a moment, Eliot actually seems tempted, pressing his lips together as he considers it, but Margo rolls her eyes again before he can rule either way. "Look, we can decide how exclusive the guestlist will be later," she says, her tone light, but with no room for argument. "Right now, I need a nap." Quentin expects her to get up and flounce her way over to her bed, but instead she slides off the couch and right into the blankets spread on the floor, turning back a second later to tug Alice down beside her. "Come on, time to get cozy."</p><p>"Is this to help the bond along?" Quentin asks. His sense of the pack already seems to have come back pretty strong, nearly audible with them all so close, but the idea that it might not even be at full strength yet makes his stomach flutter. "You know, close quarters, like last time?"</p><p>Margo gives him an almost exasperated look for a second before she smiles, soft and a little wry. "No, this time it's specifically for cuddling. Now get down here."</p><p>In the time it takes Quentin to blink, the fluttering spreads through him like a shiver. He can feel a pleased flush rising to his face, his chest, his whole body, tingling warm as he looks around the den - at the others, settling down together; at Julia, still sitting up and smiling softly, now with her hand held out to him; and then at Eliot, who just gazes back at him for a moment with something gentle and amused in his eyes.</p><p>It brushes between Quentin's thoughts too, close enough to put a name to after a few seconds - endearment, foreign and familiar at the same time, like he's felt it before without remembering when. Eliot seems to know the moment Quentin identifies the feeling, but he doesn't pull any of it back. He just lets his hand slide warm across Quentin's back before he smiles and gives him a light nudge forward.</p><p>Last time the pack was bedded down together like this, Quentin was too uncomfortable to join in, but this time he takes Julia's outstretched hand easily, and lets her pull him down into the blankets with Eliot's tender look still warming his chest.</p><p>While he stretches out beside her, he peeks over his shoulder just once to watch Eliot step carefully over pillows and bare feet to fold himself down between Josh and Margo. Soft contentment spills over into the back of Quentin's mind as Eliot settles, and he can almost feel Margo's soft nightgown sliding over his own palms as Eliot's arms wind around her. Her back is to his chest while she curls up around Alice, whose fuzzy slippers brush Quentin's calves as he rolls over to face Julia again.</p><p>She's wriggled off of Penny's lap to be level with Quentin, but Kady is still at her back, and Penny has ended up sort of curled around all three of them. Quentin almost thought there might not be room for the whole pack in the space between the couches, but actually, they could probably spread out even more than they have with room to spare - not that he wants anyone to move away. It's nice to be so close, to feel the bond humming, to be right in the middle of the nest and find it's just as warm and comfortable as he imagined it might be, way back when he was too shy to find out.</p><p>Julia grins at him again and lifts one arm to drape over him, leaning forward until they're almost nose-to-nose. Quenin can't help thinking of their first night at Haven, pressed close on the single matress in the attic, unsure of anything except that they were staying together, no matter what. For a moment, he feels the same fierce flare in his chest as he did in the bar with blood on his hands, insisting that he wasn't leaving this place without a fight.</p><p>This is where he belongs - here, with Julia, with their pack curled up around them. All of them warm, all of them safe, all of them connected.</p><p>But even so, he can't quite fall asleep. It's not that there's a sore spot to worry in circles over, or even that he can't feel the others' drowsiness drawing him down as they each drop off. It's something else, warm and distracting still coiled up between Quentin's ribs - or maybe Eliot's ribs, since he's not asleep either. Quentin barely has to reach out to know that his presence is still right where it always is, bright and steady and wide awake.</p><p>And of course, it makes sense that Eliot would be able to tell Quentin is still awake, too. <i>So spending the wee hours of the morning fighting for your life didn't tire you out enough either, huh,</i> he drawls, his voice slipping in softly between Quentin's thoughts.</p><p><i>I guess not,</i> Quentin sends back, sighing a little. <i>Maybe I'm overtired, I don't know.</i> He brushes his hair out of his eyes, squinting at Julia's sleeping face still close to his and then out at the dim room around them, quiet but for soft, slow breathing. <i>Probably one of the better places I've had to lie awake in, though.</i></p><p><i>Well,</i> Eliot hums, <i>if you think you're going to be up for a while… I mean, not to sound like an awful cliché, but - do you want to get out of here?</i></p><p>In hindsight it seems like an obvious option, but the thought still comes with a bit of relief - and maybe a bit of an anticipatory thrill, as well. Quentin can practically feel Eliot's huff of laughter at his reaction before he even gets the words out. <i>Yeah, let's go.</i></p><p>He carefully slips out from under Julia's arm, doing his best not to jostle her or Alice behind him. When he sits up, he finds Eliot waiting for him, having already extracted himself from between Josh and Margo. Quentin takes his hand when he reaches out and Eliot pulls him upright easily, his amusement still tickling at Quentin's thoughts.</p><p>As they tiptoe around the edge of the nest to the stairs, Quentin can't help thinking about how he snuck out of their last cuddle-pile slumber party too, slipping shamefully away to be miserable by himself. But this time is different. All he can feel is the light in his chest and Eliot's fingers tight around his, and Eliot's mischievous delight seeping into him as they start down to the staircase - not that there's any real danger to being caught, beyond maybe some grumbling at having been woken up, or maybe another eye-roll from Margo.</p><p>Downstairs, Quentin can see early sunlight streaming in through the windows, painting warm stripes across the floor. He thinks at first that Eliot is leading him to the couch again, maybe to watch the sun come up over the buildings surrounding the courtyard, but instead he tugs Quentin right past it. Then it's only a few steps down the hall to his bedroom, and only a couple more before the door is closed quietly behind them.</p><p>The room still smells like Eliot, which isn't a surprise, but Quentin feels almost giddy about it anyway. There's a streak of sunlight across Eliot's bed from the gap between his curtains, and Eliot lets go of Quentin's hand to flop gracefully down into it, lounging sideways across the sheets with a happy sigh. Quentin watches him, barely making an effort to hide his grin as comfortable contentment slides across the gap, until Eliot abruptly sits up.</p><p>"Can I make a confession?" he asks, propping himself up on one palm while he holds his other hand out to Quentin again. Quentin steps closer to take it almost without thinking, and Eliot gives him a sly smile. "I stayed awake on purpose."</p><p>In Quentin's opinion, 'confession' might be the wrong word for how guiltlessly he says it, but he does at least try for a playful grimace when Quentin furrows his brow in mock-offense. "Isn't that, like, affront to cuddle puddle solidarity, or something?" Quentin says, trying and failing to hold the expression while Eliot strokes over his knuckles. "I mean, what would Margo say?"</p><p>"I know," Eliot sighs forlornly, his smile returning a second later as he looks back up at Quentin. "But I wanted to stay up a bit longer with you. Alone."</p><p>Quentin has to ignore the sudden heat that drops into his stomach in favour of keeping his balance when Eliot tugs his hand, pulling Quentin down on the bed beside him. Once he's sitting mostly upright next to Eliot, he pushes his hair out of his face and looks up to meet his playful gaze with a halfhearted glare - but he loses his train of thought when he sees the light shimmering around him, soft rays emitting from his outline.</p><p>"Eliot, you're—" he breaks off, suddenly breathless. It's almost weird to see the aura so clearly, without anything to make him second-guess it. The shine of it is somehow entirely different from the stripe of sunlight falling across Eliot's face as he raises an eyebrow at him. "You're glowing again."</p><p>"Am I?" Eliot immediately looks down at his hands, turning them over with a frown. "Huh. I don't see it."</p><p>"Just take my word for it," Quentin tells him, watching the rays shimmer across his shoulders. It lasts a few seconds longer before it fades back into his skin, or wherever the glow comes from - the sunlight stays though, even when Eliot dips his head to check himself over for the shine he can't see.</p><p>Quentin slowly shifts to face him, excitement and nervousness both making his heart pound. "You know what it means, right?" he asks, quieter than he means to, but it's still enough to get Eliot to look up at him. "It's like in the story, <i>The First Wolf</i>. The gifts the moon gave the wolf and his descendants, the ability to shift, and—"</p><p>"His devotion to carry with them," Eliot recites, brow furrowing. "An inevitable pull towards their mate."</p><p>"Their true mate," Quentin corrects. "Shining on them like the moon." He watches Eliot's eyes widen a little, soothed by the flicker of awe he can feel rising across the bond. "You said you didn't know what to look for, beyond a spotlight, or whatever— but you were kind of right," he presses, reaching for Eliot's hand on impulse the second Eliot seems to verge toward uncertainty again. "It's like a beacon, to… find each other by, I guess."</p><p>"But how can you see it?" Eliot asks, still a little skeptical even as he lets Quentin fold his fingers over his palm. "I mean, no offense, Q, but if we're going from the story, it's supposed to be descendants only."</p><p>Quentin shrugs weakly. "Yeah, but— remember after we bonded, you told me there might be, like, overlap? Like we could borrow strength from each other, or something." He catches himself with his gaze in his lap and forces his eyes back up to meet Eliot's. This is the important part, after all. "I thought it might mean I could shift, but what if it's actually that I can recognize my true mate?"</p><p>Eliot raises an eyebrow. "So you're borrowing... what, my destiny radar?"</p><p>"Something like that," Quentin says, smiling helplessly. "I think I am, anyway. I only ever noticed the glow after we were connected."</p><p>Eliot's lips quirk too, but it doesn't last. His brows are still pinched when he drops his gaze to Quentin's hand around his, and he feels... hesitant, almost like he's wary of the idea. Quentin's stomach sinks just a little. "Are you upset?" he asks softly.</p><p>Some of Eliot's uncertainty fades almost as soon as the words are out, and he quickly shakes his head. "No, Q, I'm just… it's just a lot to wrap my head around." </p><p>Quentin still can't help a guilty frown. "I know you said you didn't like the idea of— predetermined stuff, or fate, or whatever—"</p><p>"I still don't," Eliot says. "But when it's you, it's… different."</p><p>He takes a deep breath and turns his palm over in Quentin's grip to slide their fingers together, still looking down at the point of contact. "True mates," he says, quietly like he's testing it out, then he huffs a quiet laugh. "Of course <i>you</i> were the one to figure out the stupid thousand-years-old riddle. God knows why the family legend couldn't have been more specific about the glowstick factor."</p><p>"You're the one who said the original story might have been different," Quentin points out, but tentative relief has him laughing along. "You've seen it too, right? The moon-glowing thing?"</p><p>"Not until last night," Eliot says, meeting Quentin's immediate confusion with a wry glance. "I went years thinking I didn't have a true mate, Q. I wasn't exactly on the lookout." Quentin supposes that's fair, even if it does make his heart hurt a little. Eliot drops his eyes again, stroking his thumb almost absently over the back of Quentin's hand. "Plus… I don't know, maybe it was sort of— willful blindness, on my part. Maybe I didn't see it because I didn't want to."</p><p>A quiet ripple of remorse laps at Quentin through the bond and he does his best to push it away. "It's not like it happened all the time for me, either," he assures Eliot, squeezing his fingers. "I only really saw it when we were—" He cuts himself off halfway through the thought, gesturing vaguely instead. "Um. You know."</p><p>Not his smoothest evasion, but it'll do— except the brief trill of embarrassment in his chest apparently doesn't escape Eliot's notice, and it only rises further when Eliot looks up at him again.</p><p>"I don't think I do," Eliot says, seeming genuinely curious for a moment before the blush heating Quentin's face must catch his attention, and a slow grin starts to spread across his mouth instead. Quentin tries to duck his head and turn away but Eliot doesn't let him, snickering as he tugs on Quentin's hand to urge him closer. "Come on, when we were what?"</p><p>Well, it's probably best to be accurate about these things anyway, right? "When we were, um, in bed together," Quentin explains, maybe a little closer to a squeak than he'd like, but it's all he can manage with Eliot actively trying to pull him into his lap. He can already feel what little resolve he started with crumbling, and it only takes a light touch at his waist to get him up on his knees, shifting across the small gap left between them to settle over Eliot's thighs.</p><p>"Uh-huh," Eliot prompts, eyebrows raised like he can somehow sense there's more to it than that. Quentin swallows hard.</p><p>"Or, I guess specifically when we were, like, fucking?" he tries, extremely aware of both the heat across his cheeks and the fact that he's starting to ramble, but Eliot's hands spreading warm across his hips are making it hard not to. "But, I mean, it also happened just now, and we're not— it's not like we're, you know, doing that, at the moment."</p><p>"Subject to change," Eliot murmurs, his fingers dipping under the hem of Quentin's borrowed shirt.</p><p>"There was also— outside, by the fire earlier," Quentin goes on, trying his best to focus. "And in Margo's shower. And, um, right after we bonded, maybe? Like, in the morning, after the ritual?"</p><p>Eliot pauses, frowning up at him in surprise. "You saw it then?"</p><p>"I think so," Quentin says, voice mostly steady. He hadn't really questioned it at the time, but in hindsight, the sleepy memory matches up with the aura he's been seeing. "I thought it was a dream, but… yeah, maybe even then, you were already— shining, or whatever." He shifts a little in Eliot's lap, self-conscious under the almost awed look Eliot is watching him with. "What about you? When did you see it?"</p><p>"Only when we were hiding in the bar," Eliot hums. "I told you to leave, and you were stubborn about it, as usual." Quentin huffs a little, but Eliot just smiles, his expression turning thoughtful. "You said you wouldn't let anything take you from me," he says softly, "and then… there it was." </p><p>He's quiet for a second, his palms warm on the small of Quentin's back, gazing up at him with a look that's hard to read. Quentin can feel a gentle swell of affection through the bond and isn't sure which of them it's coming from until it slips back beneath the surface when Eliot looks away.</p><p>"So I guess it's not just about what our dicks are doing," he says wryly, sliding his hands back down to Quentin's hips.</p><p>"Right," Quentin says, blinking a few times to get his focus back. "Uh, well, maybe what makes it manifest is less about— <i>that,</i> and more connected to... when we're being honest? Or, like, vulnerable?"</p><p>Eliot makes a face, shuddering exaggeratedly. "Oh, god, can we just fuck instead? Please?"</p><p>"Hey, I'm serious," Quentin scolds, doing his best to frown around the laughter bubbling up in his chest. "This could be important for later."</p><p>"Why?" Eliot scoffs. "We found each other already, didn't we?"</p><p>He says it almost offhandedly, but it makes Quentin's pulse skip, his throat going tight for a second. And it's a good point, he supposes, even without the almost fierce press of determined certainty he can feel at the back of his mind. Eliot must be able to feel the tender thing rising between his ribs in return though, and his lofty expression drops in favour of something softer.</p><p>He leans in and Quentin sways closer automatically so Eliot can nuzzle against his jaw, sighing quietly. "I guess I <i>am</i> curious if it'll keep happening," he hums just below Quentin's ear.</p><p>"Now that we've, like, acknowledged it, you mean?" Quentin asks, trying to consider it seriously even while preoccupied with Eliot nosing across his cheek. "I-I don't know, it's not like it's inconvenient. And no one can see it but us."</p><p>"Born wolf mate privilege," Eliot snickers against the corner of his mouth. A moment later, he pulls back to peek up at Quentin again, one eyebrow raised teasingly. "No luck on shifting, though?"</p><p>Quentin shakes his head, realizing a little belatedly that he's latched onto the front of Eliot's robe with both hands, keeping him from drawing any further away - not that he's actually worried about that, especially with Eliot's fingers teasing their way under his shirt again. "I think I like this better," he admits.</p><p>Eliot breathes a laugh as he leans in again, smiling like he can't help it, and this time Quentin dips down too, catching Eliot's mouth with his own. There's a wave of emotion building in his chest and he tries to push as much of it as he can at Eliot, through the kiss and through the bond. He's not even sure if any specifics are getting across, he just wants to be closer, he just wants Eliot to keep his hands on him. He's almost surprised by the answering push on Eliot's end, a little hesitant at first, and then suddenly he can feel Eliot opening up to let him in - or maybe to let himself out. </p><p>Warmth floods between them, and there's so much else wrapped up in it, comfort and fondness and <i>want</i> and something that sparks a little when Eliot's palms slide up over Quentin's ribs, lifting his shirt along with them. Quentin almost gasps at the touch, his mouth falling open for Eliot's tongue to dip inside. It's not like it was on the full moon, every brush of skin sending a bolt down his spine, but it's still not hard to decide Eliot has the right idea about their clothes.</p><p>As soon as his shirt is off, the sparkly text catching the sunlight for a moment as Eliot tosses it off the side of the bed, Quentin gets to work shoving Eliot's robe off his shoulders even as he leans back in for another kiss. Eliot has to take his hands back to sort out his sleeves, but Quentin spreads his palms over Eliot's bare chest to make up for it, fingers curling in his chest hair. He marvels at the slight shiver that runs through him, at the way his breath hitches against Quentin's lips.</p><p>Once the robe is gone, Eliot moves right along, yanking at the silky bow of Quentin's pajama pants while his tongue delves deep - then pulling back and grasping him by the waist to half-lift, half-tug him sideways off his lap. Quentin manages not to yelp embarrassingly as he lands on his back in the sheets, but he does have to drag his thoughts away from the brief, hard press of Eliot's fingers against his hipbones before he can reorient himself.</p><p>Beside him, Eliot slips out of his sleep pants in one smooth movement he barely even has to sit up for, and Quentin wriggles out of his own a little less gracefully— but then they're both naked, and the stripe of sunlight across the bed draws a line between them as their eyes lock. It's not that there isn't arousal dripping over them through the bond, because there is, coiling hot in Quentin's stomach - but stronger and almost louder than that is just the need to touch, to have Eliot close and be close to him.</p><p>He reaches out at the same time Eliot does and feels soothed as soon as their skin connects, his fingers skimming across Eliot's hip and thigh while Eliot winds an arm around his waist. He draws Quentin up the bed, closer to the headboard so he can pull back the sheets for them to slide underneath. Settling on his back, Eliot pulls Quentin down next to him, flush against his side, but it's somehow not enough.</p><p>Huffing a little, Quentin shifts closer, feeling soft amusement brushing at him just underneath the almost desperate desire for contact. He doesn't quite end up in Eliot's lap this time, but half on top of him instead, with his hand spread across Eliot's chest and one leg hooked over his. Eliot seems satisfied with his role as a body pillow, humming contentedly as he slides his palms down over Quentin's back, settling at the base of his spine.</p><p>Quentin tucks his face against Eliot's neck and breathes in his scent, much stronger on his skin than on his clothes, or even his bedsheets. He wonders, if they sleep here like this, if Eliot will wake up with Quentin's scent on him instead. The thought is unexpectedly thrilling, tingling in his chest, calling up an almost answering ripple of curiosity from Eliot - but that has almost the same effect, reminding him just how much of a relief it is to know their bond is still intact. His sudden giddiness apparently doesn't answer Eliot's unspoken question though, and the press of curiosity gets a little more insistent. "Q? What's up?"</p><p>Quentin lifts his head to meet Eliot's raised eyebrows with a barely-restrained grin. "Nothing, it's just— it's nice to be able to feel you again." He hopes Eliot can feel the same sense of comfort that blooms when he thinks about it. "I missed this."</p><p>Eliot smiles back, endeared if still a bit confused. "I guess last night did feel kind of unfairly long."</p><p>"It's not just that," Quentin says, dropping his chin against Eliot's chest. "Even before the new moon, I couldn't really… I was kind of distracted by, you know. Being depressed." The near-week he spent in his room already feels so far off, like it happened much longer ago than it actually did. In reality it's been less than 24 hours since Julia got him up, and this time yesterday he was still somewhere in his tired unfeeling haze.</p><p>He peeks up at Eliot, taking in the twist to his mouth, the faint twinge of unease at the back of his mind, and frowns. "Did you, like, feel any of that?"</p><p>"Sort of," Eliot says, brow furrowed as he tips his head back. Guilt immediately starts to prickle in Quentin's stomach, but Eliot runs his fingers gently up his spine, soothing. "I couldn't feel exactly what you were feeling. It was just… static, sort of far away. I thought you were doing it on purpose at first," he admits. "You definitely had a right to be pissed. But then Julia told us what you were going through, and…"</p><p>He trails off, then looks back down at Quentin, hesitant but making sure to hold his gaze. "I'm sorry I didn't do anything."</p><p>Quentin's heart clenches, just as relieved as he is regretful that Eliot had to deal with it at all. "You couldn't have done much," he says quietly, glancing away with a weak smile. "My brain is just... like that, sometimes."</p><p>"Still." Eliot's hand strays from its trail back down Quentin's spine to gently brush his hair behind his ear instead. "I want to help, not make it harder. Even if you can't feel it, I still want to be there." Throat stinging a little, Quentin manages to look back at him, and something tender seeps across the bond as Eliot cups his cheek with a smile. "And I'll be there when you can feel it again."</p><p>"I know," Quentin mumbles, turning his face into the touch. "I know you want to be. But sometimes…" He hesitates, not sure if he wants to risk ruining the soft sunlit moment they've cultivated - but Eliot deserves his honesty, doesn't he? If he can't say it now, who knows if he ever will? Pushing past his anxiety, Quentin takes a deep breath and makes himself go on. </p><p>"Before the ritual, before all of that, sometimes you would be— I don't know, hazy. Or really distant, like you were pushing me away." He almost expects it to happen now, while he watches Eliot's expression close off, but he can still feel the low swell of dread in Eliot's gut pretty clearly.</p><p>Eliot seems to waver for a second, then lets out a breath, dropping his hand from Quentin's face. "Yeah," he sighs out, almost wry. "I guess I was."</p><p>He looks away, but his other hand keeps its place at the small of Quentin's back, so Quentin doesn't think he actually wants to go anywhere. And while he watches his face, he can feel something else rising through Eliot, something determinedly pushing the dread aside.</p><p>"I don't have an excuse, Q," he admits, jaw tight. "I've just had a lot of practice in, you know, repressing... just about everything." He huffs a weak laugh. "It's kind of a reflex. And even when it isn't, I'm still…"</p><p>"Scared?" Quentin offers, just above a whisper.</p><p>Eliot presses his lips together, but after a second he nods. "I told you, I'm really good at fucking things up. It was all I did, for a while. That and running away."</p><p>Quentin frowns up at him, wanting to protest, but Eliot seems to be working himself up to something he doesn't want to interrupt. Eventually Eliot sighs again, and looks back at him with an almost sad smile. </p><p>"Getting here, finding Margo, forming the pack… that was supposed to be my lucky break, you know? Like, the one thing I somehow ended up with, even if I didn't deserve it. And I was fine with that." A moment later, his lips quirk into something more fond. "But then you showed up, and something changed."</p><p>Spurred by the soft warmth spilling out of Eliot again, Quentin can't help smiling back at him. "Why, what did I do?" Other than faceplant in his backyard, steal his bed for a night, almost screw up the initiation ritual...</p><p>"You made me wonder," Eliot murmurs, lifting his hand to stroke Quentin's cheek again. "For the first time in a long time, I thought... maybe I really could have something else."</p><p>Quentin is sure Eliot must be able to hear the way his pulse jumps, or at the very least feel the heat under his fingertips as a flush spreads across his face. "You didn't ever think to tell me?" he asks, trying his best to scowl through it. Judging by Eliot's playful smirk, it doesn't quite work out.</p><p>"In my defense, you kind of had a lot on your plate, at the time," Eliot points out, swiping his thumb across Quentin's lower lip. "Recently traumatized, if you recall. I figured I should probably keep a lid on it, at least until you stopped actively trying to get kicked out." He presses gently when Quentin tries to pout, just enough to get him to open his mouth, then lets go with a teasing push through the bond that makes Quentin flush deeper. "And then the Beast showed up, and you got hurt, and things… escalated."</p><p>It's a quaint way to put the fact that they both made a lifetime commitment to a person they met a month previous, but Quentin supposes it's accurate enough. And he can't say he regrets it, life-saving measures aside.</p><p>"I guess I probably wouldn't have believed you, even if you had told me," he admits, resting his cheek on Eliot's chest.</p><p>Eliot hums, sliding both hands back down to the base of Quentin's spine. "Well, I <i>did</i> tell you that you'd find a place for yourself."</p><p>Quentin glances up at him wryly. "You mean when we'd known each other for like, ten minutes? I thought you were just being nice."</p><p>"I guess you couldn't see me literally glowing with honesty back then," Eliot sighs, playfully haughty.</p><p>"I don't think I even knew true mates were a thing," Quentin snickers. He looks down at his palm spread across Eliot's sternum, scratching gently through his chest hair for a moment. "And I definitely didn't know that you were mine."</p><p>Eliot breathes a quiet laugh above him. "You know, I actually… hm."</p><p>Peeking up at him again, Quentin waits for him to go on, but Eliot seems weirdly hesitant. Quentin is confused until he feels something almost embarrassed skimming over him - like Eliot is <i>shy</i> about whatever he stopped himself from saying. Unable to keep the grin off his face, Quentin lifts his head to give him an eager look, and what he's sure is the full brunt of his curiosity through the bond.</p><p>"What?" he prompts quietly, pawing at Eliot's chest when he glances away and tries to shrug it off. "Hey, come on. It's just you and me, right?"</p><p>He can practically feel Eliot's resolve melt at that. After huffing out a breath which is almost definitely for show, Eliot gives him a brief look, still a little hesitant. "I'd like to preface this by saying I still think destiny is a garbage concept," he starts, and waits for Quentin to nod dutifully before he swallows and drops the stilted loftiness from his tone. "The night I read you that story about the first wolf— other than Margo, I'd never told anyone the rest of it, the true mates part."</p><p>Quentin isn't surprised by that. Eliot had said it was some sort of family legend after all, and at this point, it's almost more of a shock to hear that Margo <i>doesn't</i> know something about him. But the longer he gazes at Eliot, the more clear it becomes that the thing he can feel trilling feebly between their chests is <i>nerves</i>.</p><p>"She thought it was, you know, bloodline purity bullshit," Eliot says, tapping his fingers almost anxiously at the small of Quentin's back, "and I agreed, for the most part. But in the moment, I think I just wanted you to feel better, and— and you latched on, like it <i>had</i> to be real." He looks up then, smiling just a little, his gaze softer than before. "After that I actually… I started thinking that— maybe it could be you. My true mate."</p><p>His heartbeat is quick but steady under Quentin's palm, and Quentin is sure his own is audibly speeding up to match it. He watches Eliot shake his head, almost like he can't believe what he's saying. "Even when I was sure I didn't have one, even when I was telling you the reasons, reminding myself why I <i>couldn't—</i> I still wanted so badly for it to be you," he admits, breathing it out in a laugh before dropping his gaze. "But it seemed impossible. I mean, how could you be meant for me, when you're so... gentle, so stubborn and unafraid, and I'm— how I am."</p><p>Quentin frowns, heart clenching, ready to fully sit up and make Eliot look back at him— but Eliot only takes a second to meet his eye again. "But somehow," he murmurs, "here you are."</p><p>His hands slide up to Quentin's shoulders and hold him there while his eyes search his face. Quentin doesn't need the bond to feel the open awe in his expression, the near reverence even as his brow furrows in disbelief. "It almost doesn't feel real," Eliot breathes.</p><p>"Well, it is," Quentin tells him, quiet but insistent. He slides off of Eliot's chest as he wriggles himself up to be level with him, pressing close enough that their noses almost brush. "I mean— destiny is weird," he says, pushing his hair out of his eyes as Eliot blinks back at him, "and, you know, kind of bullshit. But... if you wanted this, maybe it let you choose."</p><p>He can still feel Eliot's heartbeat doubling his own as Eliot turns on his side, curling around him, but it's the gentle wave of warmth flowing into the small space between them that distracts Quentin the most. "Maybe it's me because you wanted it to be me," he suggests, watching Eliot watch him. "And everything else, the pull, the beacon… that all came later."</p><p>A slow smile parts Eliot's lips as he lifts his hand to cup Quentin's cheek again. "Yeah, maybe," he murmurs, leaning in. "I think I'd like that."</p><p>Quentin isn't sure if just saying it makes it something worth believing, but if it'll get Eliot to kiss him like this every time, slow and sweet and lingering, he'll repeat it as many times as he wants. He never thought much about destiny, not his own, at least. Other people always seemed to have bigger ideas about fate than he could muster up, like Eliot's spiteful stance - though it might be a little lessened now, as his teeth graze Quentin's lip - but the Beast talked about it too.</p><p>He made it sound like a force he could wield, like he himself was an inevitability— and maybe he was, but he had Quentin's destiny wrong. Actually, even Eliot's softly-told story about gifts and fated meetings didn't ever say what happens afterwards. But Quentin thinks he can live with not knowing for sure. For now, all he wants is this - warm skin under his hands, Eliot pressed close to him, the soft presence of the rest of the pack asleep upstairs, and the quiet certainty that he's where he's supposed to be.</p><p>Or it <i>will</i> be quiet, after he checks one last thing. "So, we're staying werewolf-married, right?" he asks, a little breathless when Eliot pulls back to tug the sheets up around him.</p><p>He pauses halfway into it though, looking back at Quentin with a bewildered expression. "What?"</p><p>Quentin frowns. "I mean, the mate bond is— it's kind of like marriage, isn't it?" Eliot blinks at him, then abandons the sheet to drag a hand down his face. Quentin cringes sheepishly. "Or... not?"</p><p>"Quentin— jesus christ." Eliot settles back down to face him again with a huff, taking a few seconds to choose his words. "I guess, yeah, it's essentially like getting married," he sighs out, "but it's also— it's more than that. It's a life bond. Pure devotion. A linking of souls."</p><p>He huffs again, even as he wraps his arms back around Quentin. "Do all turned wolves think it's just marriage? God, maybe I <i>should</i> tell Alice where I'm from, if only just to set some misconceptions straight—"</p><p>"Um," Quentin interrupts, breath catching in his throat. "Our souls are linked?"</p><p>Eliot gives him a wry look, soft underneath. "You haven't noticed?"</p><p>Quentin shrugs one shoulder while Eliot leans in again, nosing against his neck. "I-I just mean, that sounds, um. Intimate."</p><p>"Because it is," Eliot snorts, but Quentin can feel a soothing brush of endearment through the bond as he pulls back again. "But hey, we can start with just, you know, dating."</p><p>"Isn't that kind of doing things backwards?" Quentin asks, half-mumbling, trying to resist the urge to hide his blush against Eliot's chest. "Especially since we're already... more than married, or whatever."</p><p>"Yeah, but think of how many steps we skipped over," Eliot points out, looking almost offended now that he's considering it. "I never had the opportunity to court you properly."</p><p>Quentin blinks at him. "You would've done that?"</p><p>"Of course," Eliot scoffs. "Who do you think you're talking to? It's a tragedy, Q, we <i>have</i> to remedy it."</p><p>He starts gently pushing at Quentin's arms, urging him to roll over - which Quentin doesn't really see the point of, considering it takes him out of his warm spot and further away from Eliot, until Eliot's arms wind through his again, pulling him back against his chest. Eliot's height lets him curl fully around Quentin, their bare skin pressed flush together, tingling all along Quentin's spine and making him shiver.</p><p>"Okay, but," he manages, while Eliot presses his knee between his legs, "we're not going to, like... regress back to just holding hands, or anything, right?"</p><p>Eliot huffs a laugh into his hair. "No," he murmurs, lips catching on Quentin's nape. "Definitely not."</p><p>Quentin lets relief flutter through him and feels it met with familiar amusement. He seeks out Eliot's hands with his own, folding their fingers together as Eliot tightens his arms around him. The stripe of sunlight is falling across their legs now, tangled under the sheets, but Quentin doesn't look at it for long before he closes his eyes, a wave of drowsiness dropping over him almost like he forgot it was there.</p><p>He feels Eliot shift behind him, then lips against his jaw, soft breath past his ear, a warm trail being kissed down the back of his neck and across his shoulder. He manages a whispered noise, but he wants to sigh Eliot's name; a small shiver of pleasure when he'd rather twist around and catch his mouth— but he's already drifting off, helped by the warmth all around him - from Eliot's body pressed to his and Eliot's presence in his mind, and the almost gentle throb of something tender in the center of his ribs that he's sure he didn't put there himself.</p><p>The last thing Quentin is aware of is the soft pressure of Eliot's mouth following the scar curved across his shoulderblade, finishing what he started so long ago, pressing his lips to each pale mark.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wow u ever work on a thing for like 7 full months and then at 3am on christmas u finally finish it? wack anyway here is the final werewolfs chapter. folks we have a lot to say about the incredible amount of love you all have given this fic, but in the interest of everyone staring down the barrel of the 2 tags on this that haven't actually shown up in the text yet, we'll save that (and the behind-the-scenes post) for the end.<br/>the tl;dr is THANK YOu so much for everything, we hope u have enjoyed reading our beloved werewolfs.doc as much as we enjoyed writing it. happy holigays once again. now lets really earn that E rating</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking up at midday isn't especially rare for Quentin, particularly after the new moon, so he's more or less familiar with the slow, groggy start it entails. He has to swim up past the urge to sink back down into unconsciousness first, then wade through sleep-muddled thoughts to remember where he is, how he got here, whose sheets he's curled up in...</p><p>The extra jolt as the previous night - and morning - comes back to him is good for getting his brain up and running, at least, since it's usually a whole separate step. By the time he's blinking in the sunlight, Quentin is overall ahead of schedule. But there's something else about this waking that makes it different from other times, other moons - Eliot is still in bed too.</p><p>He's still right next to Quentin, in fact, like hasn't moved at all. Quentin, on the other hand, must have rolled over in his sleep - he's still in the circle of Eliot's arms, but burrowed into Eliot's chest now, almost tucked under his chin. He slowly pulls back to get a glimpse of Eliot's face, but he's still asleep, eyes closed, breaths soft and steady. </p><p>Quentin doesn't think he's ever gotten to see Eliot like this, so loose and unguarded. Every time they shared a bed previously, he would either leave before the lights were out or he'd be gone when Quentin woke up. The closest is— after they bonded, he supposes, when Eliot went back to his own room to sleep but Quentin could still feel him, his muted unconscious impressions. He can feel that now too, soft pushes of Eliot's presence in his mind, drifting close and then back down again to a quiet hum.</p><p>Wriggling up a little further, Quentin puts his head down next to Eliot's, watching his face, waiting for another sleepy impression to brush against him. He wonders if Eliot can feel him too, even while he's passed out. He isn't sure what he's really giving off through the bond right now, other than— well, the fact that he's awake. Pleased surprise, maybe. Or a giddy urge to squirm that he's trying very hard to keep restrained.</p><p>Eliot seems pretty deeply asleep though, and he barely twitched while Quentin was shuffling around. Quentin could probably slip out of bed without waking him, go make him a coffee or something, to surprise him when he does get up, but…</p><p>No, Quentin decides, shifting a little closer. He can be patient. He wants Eliot to wake up next to him. Maybe Eliot has been wanting that, too.</p><p>He stays put, curled up in Eliot's loose grip until the next quiet press comes through like a sigh in his mind, sleep-soft and content. Quentin lets it drift away before he tries nudging back, pushing as gently as he can at the edge of Eliot's presence. He's not sure if Eliot will feel it, and even if he does, he might not remember once he wakes up - but either way, Quentin is still— he's just <i>happy</i>, and he wants Eliot to know. If he answers every soft push with one of his own, then surely it'll get through to him, whether Eliot is awake or not.</p><p>Unless Quentin is maybe a little too determined on his next press, and Eliot stirs, his brow just barely furrowing. Quentin freezes, but it's too late - Eliot takes a full breath and hums it out sleepily, his arms winding a little tighter around Quentin before he opens his eyes, squinting a bit in the sun.</p><p>"Hey," he murmurs, his voice rough from sleep. Quentin feels it rumble through him and has to resist the urge to burrow back into Eliot's chest.</p><p>"Hi," he manages instead, smiling sheepishly. "Did I wake you up?"</p><p>"I don't know, were you trying to?"</p><p>"No, I was just… thinking." Loudly. "About you."</p><p>Eliot hums again, smirking like he's pleased. He stretches his legs out under the sheets, then presses closer to Quentin with a sigh, closing his eyes to nuzzle against his cheek. "I think I was dreaming."</p><p>"Yeah?" Quentin prompts, grinning when their noses brush. "What about?"</p><p>"I can't remember much," Eliot mumbles tiredly, but he pulls back a bit anyway, frowning up at the ceiling as he tries to piece it together. "I was in a house, maybe in a suburb? Somewhere I didn't recognize, definitely not in the city. I was inside, and I was sitting under a table, looking up at... a map, or something?"</p><p>As soon as he says it, the memory clicks in Quentin's mind and he can almost see it himself, can almost feel the hardwood under his knees and hear Julia's excited chatter. A smile spreads on his face automatically as he feels out Eliot's curiosity at the memory, his tentative nostalgia for a place so familiar to Quentin but where he himself has never been. "A map of where?" he can't help asking.</p><p>"I don't think it was a real place," Eliot says, brow furrowing while Quentin hides another grin. "The thing that really stood out was the feel of it, the… comfort, I guess. Just being there felt, like— easy. Uncomplicated." He turns his face back to Quentin again, looking thoughtful. "And it seemed familiar, like I'd felt it all before. But I don't really know if I have."</p><p>Quentin expects to feel bitterness seep through the bond, but it doesn't come. Instead, there's one last flicker of uncertainty before Eliot seems to put it aside in favour of giving Quentin a questioning look - Quentin, in the meantime, teeters on the edge of indignance for a second, trying to decide just how upset he should be on Eliot's behalf.</p><p>Maybe this isn't the time or place to get into it, not while the almost absentminded stroke of Eliot's fingertips across his spine is stealing more and more of his attention. But if Quentin can do anything, he can make sure Eliot feels that way again, and not just in a dream. The next time Eliot remembers uncomplicated comfort, it'll be from his own memory.</p><p>Eliot catches onto his spark of determination and smiles at him, equal parts confused and endeared. "What are you getting all fired up about this early?" he asks in a murmur, the trail of his fingers a little more deliberate now.</p><p>"It's not <i>that</i> early," Quentin points out. "The sun is definitely up. It might be past noon."</p><p>"Semantics," Eliot sighs, unfazed. He shuts his eyes again, and Quentin snorts.</p><p>"You just don't want to get up yet," he accuses, uncurling one of his arms to prod Eliot in the ribs.</p><p>"Yeah, well— lately, Q, I think I've earned some time in bed, alright? Now hush," Eliot huffs, heatless, as he pulls Quentin flush against him. "Unless you have someplace else to be."</p><p>Quentin really doesn't. But he's not that tired anymore either - especially now that he's paying attention to the press of their bodies together, the brush of Eliot's chest expanding against his, the slide of skin as one of Eliot's long legs hooks over his knees. Eliot really does look ready to go back to sleep though, and while Quentin could just lie here wrapped up in him for a while longer, it's also not hard to lift his chin and softly press his lips to Eliot's instead.</p><p>Eliot responds immediately, almost like he was waiting for it, with a playful hum pushing into Quentin's mind. Quentin is a little embarrassed at being so easy to read, but he can also feel the exact moment when Eliot gives up on the idea of sleeping and kisses him a little deeper, so maybe they're just... extremely tuned into each other right now.</p><p>He's still not sure what affects their bond and what doesn't, but he hasn't really left Eliot's side since everyone came in from the courtyard. In fact, other than during the group cuddle upstairs, Quentin is pretty sure he's been touching Eliot uninterrupted for practically that whole time. The thought makes his heart swell but also sends a warm little thrill down his spine, pleasantly prickly, and it comes again when Eliot starts to lick into his mouth. How much time, cumulatively, has he spent with Eliot's lips on his, or Eliot's body pressed this close? Will Eliot's scent stay on him just as long?</p><p>Quentin pushes closer almost without thinking, pressing his hips against Eliot's, squirming just a little as heat gathers between his legs. Maybe Eliot's scent won't even have a chance to wear off if they just stay like this. Maybe he'll end up smelling like he's been in Eliot's room for days, curled up in his bed, unmistakably his.</p><p>He makes a quiet, desperate noise as he tries to arch closer, and Eliot pulls back just far enough to give him a teasing smile. "What's all this?" he asks innocently, eyebrows raised like he can't sense the desire simmering low in Quentin's stomach or feel him getting hard against his hip.</p><p>Quentin is almost too wound up to pout at him, but he manages it, squirming again. "Just— touch me."</p><p>Eliot's soft, teasing edge abruptly melts off into something hotter, and Quentin feels it trickle through him while Eliot's hand slides slowly down between them. He takes Quentin's cock in his hand, already stiffening and only getting harder at his touch, and leans in to catch his gasping mouth. His own cock is stirring too, heavy and hot against Quentin's thigh. Quentin's breath hitches remembering how it felt on his tongue, the press of it at the back of his throat - but that's not what he wants right now.</p><p>"Is this why you woke me up?" Eliot asks when he pulls back again, thumbing over the head of Quentin's dick where he's wet and leaking.</p><p>"Um," Quentin pants, "not— I didn't really mean to—"</p><p>"Hey, happy accidents, right?" Smirking, Eliot uses his other hand to press Quentin down on his back. "For the record," he hums, the sheets slipping down around his hips as he sits up and settles over Quentin's legs, "I was planning on getting you off sooner rather than later, but I thought you'd want to sleep in."</p><p>Quentin shivers, both from the loss of the warm blanket cocoon and from the tight ring of Eliot's fingers around him. "S-sorry for going off-script, I guess?"</p><p>"Oh no, you're right where I want you," Eliot says, his voice slipping from casual into something low and hot, rumbling in Quentin's chest. "But tell me what <i>you</i> want, baby. Anything. You wanna keep going like this?" He tilts his head, giving Quentin's dick a teasingly slow stroke. "Or do you want my mouth on you?"</p><p>The thought has Quentin squirming again, but it's quickly overtaken by something else, an ache that's been building up since he woke, or maybe even before that— "I want you to fuck me," Quentin breathes, almost whimpering. "Your cock inside me, El, please."</p><p>He feels the heavy jolt that throbs through Eliot at the idea, watches his lips part as his breath catches - but Eliot still pauses, hesitation somehow holding the spike of arousal at bay. "Are you sure?" he asks, and Quentin can't nod fast enough, biting back a whine as he drips over Eliot's fist.</p><p>"I've, um—" He cuts off between uneven breaths, trying to keep his voice even. "I've been thinking about it."</p><p>Eliot raises an eyebrow, his simmering heat flaring up. "About me fucking you?" he asks, pitched low again. "Knotting you?"</p><p>Quentin's whole body throbs at the thought. "Yeah, please," he gasps out, writhing under him. "I want— I want to feel it, I want you that close to me."</p><p>Still running hot, Eliot pets a soothing hand down his chest. "I just don't want to hurt you," he murmurs.</p><p>"You won't," Quentin insists, pushing up on his elbows, reaching out to draw Eliot down. "Please, Eliot. I trust you."</p><p>It takes a second, but Eliot's uncertainty finally tips over into aching want, and Quentin feels renewed heat building in both of them as Eliot presses their foreheads together. "Okay," he breathes against Quentin's mouth, "okay, let me—"</p><p>He pulls back to climb off of Quentin, letting go of his dick to spread his thighs apart instead, then leans over him to reach the bedside table. Quentin lays back down, taking a second to stare at the expanse of Eliot's torso above him - the claw marks are almost hard to pick out now, or they would be, if Quentin didn't know the exact spot as well as if the wound had been on his own body. Then there's the slide of a drawer and quiet click of a cap before Eliot returns, settling between Quentin's legs.</p><p>He presses Quentin's thigh back with one hand, hooking his knee over his arm to hold him open while he rubs lube between his fingers, shiny and wet. Quentin tries not to shiver at the first touch at his entrance, clenching his fists in the sheets, but as soon as Eliot's finger starts to press inside, he can't help gasping.</p><p>"You're okay," Eliot murmurs, ducking down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Relax, Q, I've got you."</p><p>Quentin nods, forcing a breath out and doing his best to focus on Eliot's presence soothing the discomfort almost before it happens, his lips trailing across Quentin's jaw and down his neck. He can feel how careful Eliot is being, how attuned he is to Quentin's every twitch, pushing aside his own mounting desire to concentrate on getting Quentin to open up for him without pain - and soon enough, pain is the furthest thing from Quentin's mind. He catches himself trying to wriggle closer to Eliot's hand as he presses a second finger against his rim, earning a huff of laughter as Eliot glances up at him.</p><p>"Good?" he asks, grinning for a second before continuing to mouth his way down Quentin's chest. Quentin squirms again, but Eliot's other hand is still holding him down, holding him <i>open—</i></p><p>A flustered, frustrated whimper slips past Quentin's lips, and he feels Eliot smile against his skin again before the teasing brush against his thoughts abruptly grows hotter. Quentin just has time to take a breath, and then it's pushed out of him in a yelp as Eliot dips lower to lick a stripe up the underside of his cock while he presses both fingers knuckle-deep inside him.</p><p>Quentin moans, embarrassingly pitchy, clenching around him as a jolt of pleasure prickles all the way down to his toes. He feels Eliot's reaction at the same time - almost mischievous satisfaction, and then heavy, cloying want that pushes into Quentin the same way his fingers do. Quentin lets his head fall back, gasping against the sheets while Eliot's breath puffs hot over his cock and his fingers keep driving in— spreading, <i>curling,</i> making him lose his breath more than once.</p><p>He's somehow still surprised when Eliot adds a third, very nearly crying out again even without Eliot's mouth on him. He bites his lip hard while Eliot pushes even deeper, trembles at every twist of his wrist, squeezes his eyes shut when he imagines clenching down on Eliot's cock instead of his fingers. Eliot groans above him, like he knows what Quentin is thinking - and maybe he does, if he can feel the thick rush of heat running through him, or maybe Eliot has already thought of the same thing, watching his fingers sink into Quentin—</p><p>He's flushed and panting when Quentin manages to look up at him, eyes dark with arousal. "Think you’re ready for me, baby?" he asks, low and breathy. Quentin is nodding before he's even finished speaking, then whimpers loudly when Eliot draws his fingers out of him all at once.</p><p>"Just hold on, sweetheart," Eliot soothes, gently bringing Quentin's leg down from where he pressed it back. "Come on, turn over for me."</p><p>Breathing shakily, Quentin rolls himself onto his front, his cock dragging against the bed until Eliot tugs him up by the hips. Quentin clenches his fists in the sheets again, cheek pressed to the mattress, panting as Eliot settles behind him, between his spread knees. He can't see Eliot but he can feel the warmth of him, the shift of his weight on the bed— and then the slick head of his cock nudging at the cleft of Quentin's ass, Eliot's fingers spreading him open, heat and skin and his own throbbing pulse as Eliot pushes inside.</p><p>His cock is thick and hot as it presses Quentin apart, driving everything else from his mind except the throb deep inside him as Eliot fills him up. "Eliot," he gasps, half a whine, "fuck, Eliot, <i>oh—</i>"</p><p>Eliot pulls back slightly, grasping his hips again to hitch him up a little higher. "Fuck, baby, you're still so tight." Quentin takes the opportunity to get a breath before it's pushed out of his lungs again as Eliot slides back in with a groan, deeper than his fingers ever reached. He slides one hand down Quentin's spine to hold him there, back bowed as Eliot rocks into him.</p><p>It takes a few slow thrusts for Eliot to sheathe himself completely inside, pausing there with his hips flush against Quentin's ass. Quentin can barely think, let alone speak, caught up in the heat of Eliot's cock so deep inside him, the shivery bliss of being filled - but he can feel Eliot's pleasure right alongside it, can almost push into that feeling himself when they're pressed so close together. </p><p>"You're doing so good, Q," Eliot breathes, the praise twisting sweetly in Quentin's stomach. Sliding both hands back to Quentin's hips, Eliot nudges his knees a little further apart before pressing in again, harder. Quentin can't close his mouth fast enough to bite back a truly embarrassing noise, but he feels Eliot's immediate hum of satisfaction and arousal rumble through him.</p><p>"Yeah, like that?" he asks, voice low and teasing. Quentin is too shaky to muffle his whine against the sheets either, but Eliot seems to take it as answer enough and rolls his hips into him again, starting a rhythm as he sinks in deep over and over.</p><p>Quentin can only shudder and gasp, overwhelmed by the hot, sweet slide of Eliot's cock filling him up, the sparks through his core as he drags back out. With each thrust Eliot gets closer and closer to wrenching some deep, quaking pleasure out of him, and Quentin can't catch his breath. "El," he whimpers, tears blurring his vision as he spreads his knees further, cock dripping between his legs, "Eliot, I'm, <i>ah—</i>"</p><p>"I can feel you getting close," Eliot tells him, fingers digging into his hips as Quentin tries to push back against him. "You could probably come just like this, couldn't you, baby? Without touching yourself at all?"</p><p>The way things are going, Quentin thinks they're probably about to find out - but Eliot slows down his rocking, getting more and more shallow until he pulls out completely. Quentin just barely manages not to whine. "Not yet," Eliot breathes, reaching out to paw at his shoulder. "Come here, let me see you."</p><p>Quentin gets some of his breath back while Eliot turns him over on his back again, hovering above him, his eyes leaving sparking trails where they rove across his skin. Quentin can only imagine how he looks, teary-eyed and sweaty and flushed down to his chest, his cock still wet and aching against his stomach - but Eliot's expression is somehow tender under all his aroused heat, almost awed. Quentin wonders if he might be watching him glow.</p><p>When he catches Quentin's questioning gaze, Eliot just smiles, shaking his head a little. "I can't believe I ever managed to hold back around you," he murmurs, eyes roaming again. "You're perfect."</p><p>Quentin feels his flush deepen, prickling down his neck. "I think you might be sort of biased," he mumbles, fighting the shy smile that's suddenly determined to sneak onto his face.</p><p>Eliot raises his eyebrows, catching Quentin's hand when he tries to reach up to wipe his eyes. "Sorry, am I embarrassing you?" he asks innocently before ducking down, his voice dropping low as he ghosts over Quentin's mouth. "Should I tell you how you feel on my cock instead? It's like you were made to fit me inside, Q."</p><p>Quentin shivers, clenching hard around nothing on reflex. He feels more than sees Eliot's pleased reaction to his writhing and abruptly comes to a decision - with a determined huff, he shoves at Eliot's shoulders, then pushes himself up too and climbs shakily into Eliot's lap. He tries to ignore the momentary surprise he can feel through the bond, and how quickly it melts into the pool of heat simmering in Eliot's gut.</p><p>"What's this?" Eliot asks, smirking as his hands drop to Quentin's hips automatically. "You wanna ride me now?"</p><p>Quentin didn't actually think as far as hearing him say it out loud, and the resulting throb of his cock twinges all the way up his spine. "Yeah," he breathes, lightheaded with arousal. "Yeah, I— I want to."</p><p>"Okay, baby. I've got you." Eliot draws Quentin's arms over his shoulders to pull him closer, helping him get comfortable, stroking soothingly over his ribs as he settles - but Quentin still nearly gasps when he feels Eliot's cock nudging between his spread legs, pressing into his opening again. "There you go," Eliot huffs out in a laugh, but even his teasing tone is still laced with heat. "You don't need my fingers this time, do you?"</p><p>Quentin flushes again, but his response flies out of his mind as soon as he starts to sinks down on Eliot's cock, breath hitching as he's filled up again. Eliot groans too, and Quentin can feel him struggling to keep still, every inch he slides in further stoking the fire lit under his skin - or maybe Quentin's skin, or both at once, he can't keep track anymore. He's trembling by the time he seats himself fully, his cock leaking against his stomach, and he whimpers when he feels Eliot twitch inside him. Eliot grasps at his hips again, almost like he's trying to steady himself, all his teasing loftiness gone, leaving nothing but want.</p><p>Quentin doesn't need guidance to start rocking against him, both of them flushed and panting. Even through the heat that's flooding into him, spreading out to every corner of his body, Quentin can still feel how open Eliot is, how attuned they are to each other. The glow still catches him a little off-guard when it appears though, shining out from behind Eliot, unmatched even by the sunlight streaming across the bed. Quentin barely has to think about wanting him to look up before Eliot catches his gaze and holds it - and for the first time, he's sure that Eliot is seeing the light too, both of them glowing for the other.</p><p>His throat stings a little at the thought, but Eliot is already leaning in to kiss him, soothing at first and then more insistent, licking at his mouth. Quentin lets the heat press into him again, shivering as he grinds down on Eliot's cock.</p><p>Eliot groans against his lips, the sound spiking through Quentin like a jolt of electricity. He pushes himself down in his lap again, hoping for the same reaction - but Eliot thrusts up into him instead, deeper than before, startling a yelp out of him that Eliot chases with his tongue. He helps Quentin lift off him and then tugs his hips down again, starting a new, rougher rhythm that Quentin does his best to keep up with.</p><p>He clings to Eliot's shoulders as he's dragged down to meet his thrusts, Eliot's cock spearing into him, filling him every time— at least he can hide all his whimpering, keening noises against Eliot's mouth as they move together, but the trembling wave of pleasure building up in him is harder to hold back.</p><p>Eliot's hand slides across Quentin's belly when he pulls away to catch his breath, rubbing through the mess of precome on his stomach before finally wrapping around his dick. Quentin jerks in his grasp with a moan, clenching hard without meaning to.</p><p>"Please, Eliot," he gasps, not really knowing what he's asking for— overwhelmed tears are welling up in his eyes again, blurring the glow around Eliot as his slippery fingers work over him. Eliot's cock throbs inside him as he slides down on it, like the touch affects him just as much, and as Quentin shudders around him, he feels something pushing at his rim. "<i>Ah—</i>"</p><p>It's Eliot's <i>knot</i>, inflating at the base of his cock and stopping Quentin from bottoming out. Quentin's entire body seems to flush at the realization, heat dropping through him as the wave of pleasure rises almost unsteadily between them. Eliot starts to lose his rhythm, his breath shivering out, and Quentin only has to feel the very edge of the worry that flickers through him for a moment before he pushes back with a flare of determination— then sinks himself down on Eliot's knot, taking it inside him with a gasp.</p><p>It's slick, and hot, and so <i>big</i>, expanding inside him until it's too thick to pull out. "Fuck, <i>Q</i>," Eliot groans, pushing closer to pant against his mouth. "You're so good, baby, made for me, I swear—"</p><p>Quentin clings tighter, lightheaded again. All he can feel is Eliot inside him, so deep now that they don't even need their thoughts and bodies to phase together to take up the same space - and as the trembling wave crests even higher over them, Eliot pulls Quentin down again, flush against him, sinking his cock impossibly deeper. Quentin whines into his mouth and clamps down on him, on his knot, his entire body locked around Eliot's cock hilted inside him.</p><p>"<i>Eliot</i>," he manages to sob out, just as the coil inside him is drawing tight— and Eliot is right there, holding him tight, closer than he's ever been. He's still shining, all heat and want and warmth reflecting back at Quentin, his presence lighting him up inside, and his voice cutting through like a beacon - <i>I'm here, Q, I'm yours, I'm not letting you go—</i></p><p>The wave shakes apart all at once and Quentin comes hard, spurting all over Eliot's hand with a cry just as Eliot's cock pulses and spills deep inside him. Quentin shivers at the heat of it spreading through him, his entire body tingling with static and trembling pleasure. The prickling edges of it sink in like pins and needles working their way out of them both, limbs trembling as they come down.</p><p>He unwinds slowly, melting against Eliot's chest until he remembers how to open his eyes, only half-certain which mouth is his while they kiss slowly - mostly just breathing against parted lips more than anything, but he doesn't think either of them want to pull away. Eliot isn't glowing anymore, but he seems just as dazed as Quentin, even while his knot is still pressing almost insistently inside him. </p><p>After a minute, he seems to regain enough brain power and coordination to wipe his sticky hand in the sheets, lifting the other to brush Quentin's tears away. Quentin turns his face into the touch, more sure now of whose skin is pressing against whose - but his whole body is still tuned to Eliot's, aware of every breath and every soft brush against his mind. There's also the physical side of their connection, the heat of Eliot's cock still inside him, the pressure of his knot where it's tying them together. It doesn't hurt, not while Quentin is so boneless and relaxed, but he still groans a little at the tug when Eliot carefully stretches his cramping legs out underneath him.</p><p>He drops his head onto Eliot's shoulder, clenching around him just to feel how deep he is. A vague sort of heat curls low in Eliot's stomach as he hums in Quentin's ear. "How's it feel?" he murmurs.</p><p>Brow furrowed a little, Quentin glances up at him confusedly. "You know how it feels."</p><p>"And?" Eliot lifts one hand to brush Quentin's sweaty hair out of his face, smiling teasingly. "Maybe I want to hear you say it."</p><p>Quentin rolls his eyes, but can't quite manage not to flush. "I kind of can't move. Does that tell you enough?"</p><p>Eliot hums again, fingers trailing across Quentin's back as he dips down. "We'll work on it."</p><p>The press of his lips is soft and slow, drawing Quentin into an almost drowsy rhythm. He feels a soothing brush against his mind to go along with it, and breathes out the last of his shuddery tension, letting Eliot quiet him down - for a few minutes, at least.</p><p>"What now?" he can't help asking, once the kiss slows to a nuzzle.</p><p>Eliot huffs a laugh against his cheek and shifts his hips slightly, his knot tugging again. "Well, this is going to take a few minutes to—"</p><p>"No, I mean," Quentin cuts him off, gesturing weakly to hide his blush when Eliot pulls back to raise an eyebrow at him, "like, you know, in the— the grand scheme of things. What are we doing next?"</p><p>"Oh. Right." Eliot sighs, tapping his fingers along Quentin's spine while he thinks about it. "Well, now that your stalker is taken care of, I guess our options are open. I mean, there's that party to plan. And maybe breakfast. After that…" He pauses for a moment, then looks down at Quentin, warmth seeping across the tiny gap left between them. "What do you want to do?"</p><p>Quentin wants to kiss him again, honestly. "I think I kind of just want to relax," he says instead, resting his head back on Eliot's shoulder. "You know, for once. Be boring for a while."</p><p>Eliot hums approvingly, his arms winding tighter around him. "I think that can be arranged." </p><p>Breathing a laugh, Quentin curls his fingers against Eliot's nape and hides a smile against his neck, feeling his heartbeat light and quick under his lips. "And, hey," Eliot adds, quieter and just a little tentative, "maybe we can take some time to figure out what <i>normal</i> is supposed to be like." He shrugs when Quentin glances up at him, but a soft, trilling press of want through the bond gives him away. "Just a thought."</p><p>"We could do that," Quentin says, a grin spreading on his face unbidden. "And also— I think you said you're going to, like, court me, or something?"</p><p>Eliot gasps in mock surprise. "I did say that, didn't I? I'll get started on it as soon as we're done here." Quentin does kiss him then, pushing up to catch his lips for a long few seconds, shifting in his lap to feel the tug on purpose. Another approving noise rumbles through Eliot's chest when they part, almost a quiet growl. "Or maybe later," he murmurs, tipping Quentin's face up to kiss him again.</p><p>Smiling against his mouth, Quentin closes his eyes and leans into him, letting soft warmth fall over them both. He doesn't know which of them is responsible for the quiet press of anticipation just under his ribs, but if they're going to be here for a while, he's sure he'll have time to figure it out.</p>
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— — — — <i>2 weeks later</i> — — — — </p>
</div>The last full moon of the summer somehow seems far off until it's very abruptly not. Its sneaking up might be in part due to the spite-fueled schadenfreude party having happened only a week or so previous (to which Todd was invited after all, and for which Josh almost, <i>almost</i> made custom t-shirts), since Haven's all-nighter is, by comparison— well, not tame by any means, but definitely quieter, which is saying something. There's still a sense of relief in the air throughout the bar though - as far as Quentin can tell, anyway, from his place behind the counter with Eliot.<p>It's not his first night on the other side of the bartop, but it <i>is</i> his first full moon there. He's actually a little surprised by how quickly his nerves ebbed, even if it was a little stressful when the doors first opened. Luckily, Eliot was a very attentive teacher where mocktails were concerned, and Quentin mostly knows what he's doing. Of course, it doesn't help that he thinks of Eliot's breath on his ear whenever he even <i>looks</i> at the cocktail shaker, remembering the way Eliot's hands guided him while he was showing him just how to use it— but tonight, Quentin is pretty sure he's managed not to screw anything up, or if he has, nobody has said anything.</p><p>Everyone's been pretty nice, actually, even the wolves he doesn't know. He's gotten way more 'thank-you's than he expected for the crowded state of the bar. Part of him wonders if maybe Margo gave all the regulars a stern, silent, alpha-infused warning to be nice to him. Or, more likely, maybe it's because he definitely has Eliot's scent all over him, and nobody is willing to fuck with that. He really can't say he minds the side-effect.</p><p>With the moon rising outside and dialling up the bond between them, it's been sort of amazing to share the small space with Eliot while being fully attuned to his exact position the whole time. They were able to slide past and weave around each other easily, never even bumping shoulders, except occasionally on purpose. Being able to feel Eliot's satisfaction every time he watched Quentin slide a drink across the bar <i>did</i> make it sort of hard to focus, but at least he could tell Eliot was distracted too, even without the bond telling him so. He's barely grumbled at Todd the whole night.</p><p>Still, Quentin is glad when he hears Josh announce that the courtyard is open for moon viewing, and breathes a sigh of relief when most of the wolves around the bar head outside to enjoy it.</p><p>"Tired already?" Eliot asks, smirking as he leans his hip against the counter. "Come on, the night's barely started."</p><p>Quentin gives him a halfhearted glare. "I haven't had to use my customer service voice in literal years," he points out with a huff, but he still lets himself be drawn over to Eliot's side. "How do you do this all the time?"</p><p>Eliot crosses his arms with a shrug. "I enjoy it, which helps. And we're allowed to drink on the job." He glances at the shelves behind the counter, and Quentin can feel the curious hum of an idea forming even before he sees the smile spread across his mouth. "You still haven't tried Witches' Brew yet, have you?" Eliot asks, turning back to him with his eyebrows raised. "Want me to make you something? If anyone deserves to get a little wild tonight, it's you."</p><p>"I don't know about <i>wild</i>," Quentin laughs, rolling his eyes. "I haven't gotten drunk since college. I mean, for obvious reasons, but still."</p><p>"Yeah?" Eliot tilts his head, endeared amusement washing through him. "And what's Drunk Q like?"</p><p>Quentin cringes a little, pushing his hair behind his ear to stall for time. "Um, kind of... mopey, I guess?" He frowns sheepishly at Eliot's furrowed brow. "I didn't like parties very much."</p><p>"Now you tell me," Eliot says dryly, but it's playful, and he smiles again as soon as Quentin pouts at him.</p><p>"I said <i>didn't</i>, past tense," he huffs. "It's different here, when I'm actually, like, part of it. When it was just me and Julia, I had no idea it could be like this." He's not really talking about parties anymore, but from Eliot's soft look, Quentin thinks he understands. "Any of it."</p><p>"Well, now you do," Eliot says after a moment of quiet. "And I swear, Q, you'll never have to go to some godawful frat party ever again." He uncrosses his arms to reach for Quentin's hand, and Quentin gives it over easily, more focused on the soothing note of comfort brushing at the back of his mind. "I'm a little upset I never got to meet Sad-Drunk Q, though," Eliot sighs, stroking over his knuckles. "I would've liked to cheer him up."</p><p>Quentin snorts. "Julia could tell you all about him. She'd probably love that, actually."</p><p>"I think she's a little... preoccupied, at present," Eliot says with a wry glance over Quentin's shoulder. "I wouldn't want to interrupt the happy throuple."</p><p>Confused, Quentin follows his gaze over to the couches on the other side of the bar, where the light is a little lower, and Julia is sitting, unsurprisingly, between Kady and Penny. Sure, the three of them are pretty close together, and yeah, Penny has his arm around her waist, but Quentin still isn't sure what Eliot means - until he notices Kady's hand trailing up Julia's thigh as she leans in to whisper something in her ear. Penny moves in too, nosing against her neck, and Julia is bright pink— </p><p>Alright, so maybe he and Eliot aren't the only ones feeling drawn together under the full moon, Quentin supposes. And it's not like this is even the first time for the three of them, either.</p><p>Julia catches his eye a second later and glares a little, her cheeks flushing further - but she doesn't move, or make any attempt to push the other two away. Quentin grins, giving her a thumbs up that makes her scowl even through her dazed blush, before Eliot pulls at his hand to turn him back around.</p><p>He's smirking when Quentin looks up at him again, amusement bubbling up through the bond. "I'd tell you to think about giving those two the shovel talk," he hums, fingers circling Quentin's wrist, "but then again, you're outnumbered."</p><p>"I wouldn't worry about it," Quentin snickers, shaking his head. There's no way Julia doesn't have both Kady and Penny wrapped around her finger, at this point. And besides, she's way more threatening than Quentin is. "I'm actually kind of surprised she hasn't said anything shovel-related to you," he adds, peering curiously up at Eliot.</p><p>Eliot grimaces a little. "I don't have to have her tell me to know she's perfectly capable of cutting my dick off, thank you."</p><p>Quentin supposes he's right, even if he can't really imagine a circumstance where that would be necessary. In Julia's defense though, she hasn't felt Eliot's unwavering certainty while he's holding onto Quentin - even now, Quentin can feel his pulse beating against Eliot's fingertips, and sense the rhythm sinking into him. They haven't really decided if they're going to tell the others the full story yet, about true mates, the whole fated-lovers aspect... For now, Quentin thinks he wants to keep it to himself a little longer. Just between him and Eliot.</p><p>"If it makes you feel better, I'd be pretty upset if she did that," he says, patting Eliot's arm.</p><p>"Of course you would, you have a personal stake in this," Eliot scoffs. His lips quirk mischievously a moment later though, and he tugs on Quentin's wrist to draw him closer. Quentin already feels a hot flush spreading through him even before Eliot dips down, humming as Quentin steps into his space. "You made pretty clear last night just how much you like my—"</p><p>"Hey, horndogs," Margo calls across the bar, startling them apart. She's waiting by the corner, rolling her eyes as she waves them over impatiently. "Stop dry-humping on the counter and get over here. We're heading outside."</p><p>Certain his face is bright red, Quentin slips out of Eliot's grip and stumbles his way around the side of the bar. Eliot, much less affected, if at all, follows behind, his teasing satisfaction pressing at Quentin the whole way.</p><p>"It's supposed to be sanitary back there, anyway," Margo huffs at them when they come closer. This time, Quentin doesn't miss the fond smile curving her lips as she turns away to round the corner. "You can go upstairs afterwards, alright? Now come on, the moon's waiting."</p><p>Before Quentin can follow, Eliot puts his arm over his shoulders, drawing him close again as he leans down to murmur in his ear. "You heard her essentially give us her blessing to ditch after this, right?"</p><p>Quentin tries to will the blush off his face, but it doesn't really work while Eliot is so close. "Didn't you just tell me you liked working the bar?" he asks wryly.</p><p>"I do," Eliot insists. "I just have other priorities tonight." He lifts his other hand to paw at the waist of Quentin's jeans, sparks trailing after his fingers. "Like getting you out of these."</p><p>Heat drops through Quentin at the touch, seeping into him where it's spilling across the gap - but he's also acutely aware that they're in the middle of the bar this time, and bats Eliot's hand away. Eliot just smirks at him, teasing again, and Quentin can't resist pushing up on his toes to kiss it off his face. He lets himself bask for a few seconds in the pleased surprise rippling through the bond, then slips out from under Eliot's arm, taking his hand instead.</p><p>"I still want to see the moon," he murmurs to him, familiar anticipation fluttering in his chest. "Just for a few minutes, okay?"</p><p>Eliot puts on a dramatically exasperated look, but he comes along easily when Quentin tugs him around the corner - and Quentin can feel that he's actually pretty excited too. They follow the others out into the yard, Josh holding the door open for Kady and Penny, Julia still a little red-faced in their wake, Margo drawing Alice along behind them.</p><p>Quentin could already feel the moon for most of the night, and how much stronger the pack bond had gotten as it rose, but once he's out in the grass with the others under the great, bright sphere of it, it's like the final filter has been removed. The bond rings in Quentin's ears, humming between them, almost glowing in his mind. It's exhilarating, being out in the summer night air, basking in the feeling of being together, being connected - of belonging here in this place, with these wolves. His pack.</p><p>There's something else that Quentin feels sinking into him though, warmer than the light of the moon - and not exactly his own, even if it is familiar enough at this point that it could be. Eliot tightens his grip on his hand, pressing their palms together as his warmth settles in Quentin's chest. He's not sure if Eliot even means for him to feel it, but he already can't imagine going without.</p><p>Even just standing with him under the light, Quentin can't tell where his moonlit elation ends and where Eliot's begins, or if the two are even separate anymore, if the breath in his lungs is his own. As their fingers twine together, he wonders if they're glowing - not just from the moon looking down at them, but in the way they light up for each other, invisible to everyone else.</p><p>He likes the idea that even out here, under the perfect full face of the moon in the sky, there's still a part of Eliot that only he can see. A beacon that's only his to follow.</p><p>He can't resist dropping his gaze from the moon then, letting his eyes find Eliot instead - and when Quentin looks up at him, Eliot is already looking back.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im feeling very paul rudd meme rn so lets get into the SPECIAL THANKS PART</p><p>marcel's A/N: HEY THANK U @ julia, for proofreading what was supposed to be, like, maybe 100k and ended up being much more than that, thank u everyone on twitter who's stuck around for the past 7 months of werewolfs tweets, thank u one direction for writing wolves.mp3 the greatest werewolf love song that exists, and thank YOU, everyone who read and/or commented and/or bookmarked and/or, like, spent real time in ur real life thinking about this fic that has lived in solely our brains for so long... you're incredible!!! thank you for spending 2 months with us for this uh . horny novel-length semi-furry hurt-comfort-y situation. werewolfs is for you.<br/>and also... nicole, for spending nearly every day since mid-may thinking abt this with me and letting me text u at all hours whether it was about character development or how to start a montage or whether or not we were including knotting. thank u. i can't wait to do it again except not for 160k this time (probably). it is, as always, all for u.</p><p>nicole's A/N: to everyone who read this fic. thank you so much for being so incredibly mind-blowingly kind and supportive with all of your comments and art (I am still so !!!! that we got ART!) and to everyone on twitter for putting up with marcel and I screaming incoherently about werewolfs.doc without any context. at this point, we’ve been working on this for what amounts to the majority of the pandemic and it’s extremely bittersweet, and if I may say, WACK, that it’s finally ending but I’m so happy and excited to finally be sharing it with all of you.<br/>&amp; to marcel. thank you for letting me share in this wonderful werewolfs journey with you and for insisting on making me a co-author even if I’m mostly just your cheerleader who sometimes yells incoherent ideas at you that you turn into beautiful words. this time its truly all for YOU. </p><p><a href="https://aniallating.tumblr.com/post/638691087918186496/hey-we-finished-the-werewolf-fic-listen-when-u">HERE</a> is the behind-the-scenes post, which includes a timeline and some floorplans and other fun werewolfs trivia, and <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3xpEg3r7t2EKvJiWt6GzBu?si=SQ1-UkjITQCmsHYIKTt0Rg">HERE</a> is the official fic mixtape lol. we are both on tumblr (<a href="https://aniallating.tumblr.com/">marcel</a> &amp; <a href="https://excaliburss.tumblr.com/">nicole</a>) and . that's it i guess! see u after we both go to bed for a very long time. thank u.</p>
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